


This Electric Feeling

by beesknees (daffodil23)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Baseball, Blackmail, Blowjobs, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Frottage, Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of Yummy Food, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Supernatural AU - Freeform, foodcritic!Dean, journalist!dean, mechanic!Dean, restaurantowner!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daffodil23/pseuds/beesknees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is the food critic for a local newspaper.  His current assignment is to review the new restaurant/night club, Fallen. The owner of Fallen is none other than one of the Novak brothers, Castiel.</p><p>When Dean and Castiel seem to keep bumping into each other across town, is it coincidence or fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The tags will be adjusted as the story progresses. Title is from Sheppard's song This Electric Feeling. Enjoy!

_This electric feeling that I get_

_is taking over me_

_I can't let go now_

_I'm possessed_

_It warps reality_

_And I need to find the answer_

 

 

"Wanna grab some beer and pizza for a Star Wars marathon at my place?"

Dean glanced up from his computer screen to see his best friend and co-worker, Charlie Bradbury, leaning against the opening to his cubicle. Pizza, beer, and a movie marathon sounded so good after the week he just had. His editor-in-chief had been riding his ass about the review he was currently finishing up. He didn't understand why Crowley was giving him so much shit for it. He was going to have the piece in long before the deadline. Still, the pompous ass was persistent.

"You have no idea how awesome that sounds, but I can't," Dean replied. "I have to finish this review up, and then I was gonna head to the new restaurant and nightclub on Massachusetts."

"Fallen?" Charlie asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That's the one," Dean supplied, turning back to his computer screen.

He loved and loathed his job as the food critic for Lawrence World-Journal. It was literally his job to eat. And boy did he love to eat. He also loved the fact he got to try places he normally wouldn't even think about setting a foot in. Places with a dress code or valet parking, for instance. He was more comfortable in jeans and plaid and parking Baby himself, but every once in a while he liked to step outside of the box.

Tonight was one of those times.

It's also what he loathed about the job. He truly did like the restaurants with white linen tablecloths and crystal goblets, but he hated going alone. He stuck out like a sore thumb in these places because he was sometimes dateless. If he could rope some girl into going with him, he often wondered if she was going just for the free meal or his company.

His reservation at Fallen was for a party of one.

"I've heard good things about it," Charlie piped. "Food's supposed to be excellent, and if you like jazz music, the band's not too shabby."

"I'll be the judge of the food," Dean smirked. "Where'd ya hear about the band anyway? 'Cause I know your dorky gamer friends aren't that sophisticated"

"Oh, coming from the guy who's music collection only consists of hair metal on cassettes. Who's calling the kettle black, huh?" Charlie quipped, rolling her eyes.

"Anything other than a cassette player would ruin the authenticity of Baby!" Dean huffed. He swiveled his chair towards his friend. "But, seriously, who'd you hear about the band from?"

Charlie thought a moment. "Y'know, I don't remember. Just around, I guess. I do have other friends besides you and your brother and the geek squad downstairs," she answered, stepping to Dean and ruffling his hair.

The action earned her a smile and a playful swat of her hands.

"Alright, cut it out! I still need to look decent for my single dinner reservation."

"What happened to Candy? No, Coco. Bambi?"

"For your information, her name was Misty-"

"Another stripper name," Charlie butted in.

"She wasn't a stripper. She was a dental hygienist," Dean said with a scowl.

"How do you think she paid for tuition? Dental hygienist school isn't cheap," Charlie snickered.

Dean huffed a short laugh. She was probably right. _Damn that brainiac!_

"It doesn't matter."

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you didn't want a commitment, but she wanted to throw her career away and have your babies?"

"So?! We had been on, like, three dates, and she was already planning the wedding!" Dean exclaimed.

Charlie shook her head gently, strands of bright red hair sweeping over her shoulders.

"You can't tell me you'd be into that?" Dean queried.

"No, that's not my particular brand of clingy, but I do want someone to settle down with and have my babies," she responded.

Deep down, so did Dean. He just didn't know how to find it; let alone, hang onto it. He was tired of the dating scene and the one night stands. He was on the backside of thirty with two real relationships under his belt. _Two_.

College was all about fun and partying. He went through girls like underwear. After graduation, though, that lifestyle sort of bled through. He wasn't quite ready to relinquish his tomcatting ways. Not until recently, anyways.

He wasn't sure what had changed.

Maybe it had been his younger brother's engagement announcement to his long-term girlfriend, Jessica? He was proud of Sam for taking the next step in settling down. Proud he wasn't a commitment-phobe like his big brother. There was still an ache in his chest, though. One he couldn't quite put a finger on to identify.

Charlie broke through her friend's reverie. "How 'bout I go with you tonight?"

"Don't you have a hot date tonight or something?" Dean questioned.

"Um, hello. Do you not remember me asking you over for pizza, beer, and Leia in a slave bikini five seconds ago?" she asked incredulously.

Dean snorted. "I guess I could change my reservation." He pondered what she was offering. "Ya don't mind?"

"Nah. I've been meaning to check this place out. Plus, it means I have an excuse to wear my new threads," Charlie returned. "And to get you on the dance floor." She waggled her eyebrows.

"Not gonna happen, Bradbury," Dean retorted, turning back to his computer.

A giggle floated in between them. "A girl can try."

There was a pause in the conversation, almost as if both suddenly became consumed with their own thoughts.

Charlie was the first to speak. "What time should I expect you and that behemoth of a car at my place?"

"Seven. That will give us enough time to drive over there and find a place to park."

"Sounds good. I'll see ya later," Charlie said, giving him the Vulcan salute as she turned to leave. "Don't be late for our hot date!"

 

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean returned his focus back to finishing up his review of the new bar and grille, Devil's Trap, after Charlie left. He still hadn't figured out why Crowley was so anxious about this review. It only had so-so food and the wait staff could use an attitude adjustment.

His burger was sloppily put together and a little undercooked for his taste. His server, Meg, seemed so put out when he asked for a second beer. And she never once asked how his food was. He just happened to snag her for the second beer as she walked by. Dean was honestly surprised when she made it back to his table with a full pint glass.

He would understand if the place was busy, but he purposely went on a Tuesday evening on a non-game night to avoid this. Luckily, he wasn't paying for the inadequate meal and experience.

That was courtesy of Lawrence World-Journal.

Dean was always completely honest in his reviews.  He'd be a terrible food critic if he wasn't. Two and a half months was enough time to work out the new business kinks. Devil's Trap was not out to impress, and Dean's review reflected that.

After saving his work, he forwarded a copy to both his copy editor and Crowley. As he shut down his computer, he glanced at his watch. The time was creeping up on 5:45 pm.

 _Shit! I still need to get home to shower and change_.

He swiftly grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. With keys in hand, Dean scampered down the hall to the bank of elevators. Once the door to the elevator on the right opened, he quietly slipped in and turned to press the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors were halfway shut a voice called out, "Hold the elevator!"

Dean's arm shot out to trigger the motion sensor in the door, and it slid back open. A man slightly taller than Dean with a round face and thinning, gray hair, stepped in beside him. He was dressed in an expensive suit, and carried himself with an arrogant confidence. Dean's spine went stick straight when he recognized the man sharing his elevator. Zachariah Adler, owner of Lawrence World-Journal.

Dean quickly made eye contact with the other man before turning his gaze straight ahead toward the door.

After an uncomfortable beat of silence, the other man spoke, "Dean Winchester, right? Our resident food critic here at LWJ."

"Y-yes, sir. Mr. Adler, sir," Dean stuttered.

"Please. Call me Zach. Mr. Adler is my old man."

"Okay. Zach." Dean's hands grew clammy, even with the informality. There was something off about this guy and it wasn't just because he was Dean's boss.

"My wife loved your review of Global Cafe's Chorizo Sloppy José. She insists we go there every time we are in town. She always gets a kick out of your quirky recommendations for the local cuisine."

"Good to hear, sir...er, Zach. I aim to please," Dean responded, trying to subtly wipe his hands on his jeans. " I'm headed that way tonight. Going to review the new night club that opened a little while ago."

Zachariah perked up. "Fallen?"

Dean nodded once.

"I've heard great things about it," Zachariah informed.

"Me too. They are gaining quite the reputation. Let's hope they live up to the hype," Dean voiced.

Just then, the elevator dinged, and the door slipped open. Zachariah exited first, followed by his employee. Both men strolled through the nearly empty lobby of the building in silence. The older man pushed the glass door open, and Dean was met with a gush of warm air that swept past his boss. It was only mid-May, but summer was trying to make an appearance early this year.

Dean headed left out of the building towards the employee parking; his footfalls echoed over the sidewalk. He stopped abruptly when he heard Zachariah's voice over the commotion on the street. The man was standing beside a black town car, the driver holding open the door.

"Dean, I look forward to your review of Fallen," Zachariah mused.

Dean tilted his head in acknowledgement. The uneasy feeling he experienced in the elevator had returned. He watched as the other man stepped into the backseat of the car.

"Keep up the good work," Zachariah spoke with a devious grin.

The car door slammed shut, and he disappeared behind blacked out windows. Dean couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine. He didn't know if he should take the compliment or be weirded out by Zachariah's body language. He was definitely bringing this up to Charlie at dinner.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean arrived home just after 6 pm. It gave him less than an hour to shower, dress, and drive to Charlie's apartment. Luckily, his house was less than a ten minute drive to her place.

Dean walked to the master bedroom of his three bedroom home. He turned the water of the shower in the en suite bathroom on to warm. He wandered back into the bedroom, removing his jacket and t-shirt as he moved to the bed. He plopped down, unlaced his boots and shucked them into his open closet. He yanked off his socks, and threw them in the vicinity of the clothes hamper that stood near his dresser. He rose once again, unbuttoned his jeans, and slipped them and his underwear down his bow legs. Stepping out of the garments and tossing them to the hamper, Dean plodded into the bathroom.

The steam from the hot water encircled Dean's body as he climbed into the glass shower. The frosted panels concealed his form, tucking him into a blanket of clouds. The water pelted his back, washing the stresses of the week into rivulets down his body. He quickly lathered his hair with shampoo, and soaped up his physique. The warmth of the water rapidly sent a flush across his skin, accentuating the freckles along the length of his entire body.

Once rinsed of all soap and shampoo, Dean escaped his steam sanctuary. He toweled himself off, and stepped into his bedroom to dress. Thankfully, the outfit he chose to wear for the evening was clean and pressed.

Dean slipped on a pair of boxer briefs, which hugged him in all the right places. He fed his arms into the crisp, white dress shirt; nimbly buttoning up the front. Stepping into a pair of charcoal gray dress pants, he tucked his shirttail into the waist, and zipped up. Fingers coaxed a black belt through the belt loops after fastening the slacks closed. He returned to the bathroom to style his hair with a dollop of gel. His fingers glided through the spiky strands of light brown hair.

Dean decided to forgo a tie, deciding on a more casual chic look for the evening. He placed black dress socks on his feet, and laced up a pair of matching leather shoes. Draping himself in the snug fitting coat of the suit, the ensemble was complete. He afforded himself one last look in the mirror while buttoning the trim coat. A pair of leaf-green eyes sparkled back at him. A small smirk tickled the corner of his lips. He knew he looked _damned_ good.

Grabbing the keys to his '67 Chevy Impala and locking the front door, Dean exuded an air of confidence as he walked to the driveway. Gliding into the driver seat, he left for Charlie's apartment with three minutes to spare.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of Charlie's complex at 7:11 pm. The traffic was heavier than usual for this time of night on a Friday. Dean hoped they weren't late for their reservation. He bounded up the stairs to Charlie's door, and knocked when he arrived.

The door swung open a moment later to reveal the red head on the other side. She was dressed in an emerald green sleeveless chiffon dress. The frock was knee length and swirled around her knees. Her high heels clacked on the tile of the entryway as she shifted her weight from foot to foot under Dean's scrutiny. The front and sides of her hair were swept up and back into a couple of sparkly clips. The rest flowed over her creamy shoulders and back. There was a light application of makeup which brought out her blue-green eyes.

Dean let out a low whistle. He took her in for a few more seconds before admitting, "If only you batted for my team. I'd be on you like white on rice." He paused when he noticed the slight blush blooming on her cheeks. With a grin, he added, "You clean up good, kid."

Charlie returned his smile with her own. "You don't look so bad yourself, Winchester," she reciprocated, sweeping a hand along Dean's left shoulder. She gently smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle.

"So, ya ready?" he asked, adjusting the ring of keys in his hand.

"Yeah, let me just get my purse," she responded, grabbing a matching clutch and sweeping a fringed wrap around her shoulders. She quickly locked the door after shutting it behind them.

Dean escorted his friend down the stairs with a hand hovering just over her lower back. He'd never seen Charlie in heels in the three years they'd know each other. Last thing he wanted for the evening was her ending up with a twisted ankle.

They made their way over to the Impala, and Dean opened the passenger side door for his companion.

"Such a gentleman," Charlie commented with a cheeky smile, slipping into the muscle car.

"Shut up and get in," Dean shot back, shutting the door of his pride and joy to muffle the woman's giggles.

Walking to the driver's side, he found himself laughing as well. _Ah, Charlie. Always good for a laugh._

Dean pulled the car's door open, and it creaked in protest. He climbed in behind the wheel, and glanced over to his passenger. She really did look beautiful as he watched her even out the wrinkles of the dress' skirt. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Are ya gonna gawk at my hotness all night long or are we gonna get this show on the road?" Charlie inquired while looking out the windshield.

Dean barked out a sharp laugh as he turned away from his best friend. He jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine. The Impala growled to life and vibrated with power.

Shaking his head, Dean lowered the volume of the music blasting from the radio. He swiftly threw his Baby into reverse and maneuvered out of the parking spot to head to Fallen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos! :) I hope you continue to enjoy the journey!
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean and Charlie arrived at Fallen with plenty of time to find a parking spot. Being a Friday night in a college town, though, Dean had to circle the block three times before finding a place big enough for Baby. The pair swiftly made their way up the sidewalk to the entrance of the restaurant. Inside, they were greeted by the soft, seductive sounds of a saxophone over a speaker system and the smiling face of the hostess.

Dean sidled up to the podium to announce their arrival. "Reservation for two for Plant."

The hostess checked her list, and found their reservation about halfway down. She jotted down which table the party of two would be seated at and highlighted the name of Dean's alias. A second greeter pulled two menus and spoke sweetly, "If you'll follow me, please, Mr. Plant."

Dean ushered Charlie to follow the petite woman, but not before giving her a sly wink.

"Mr. Plant, huh?" Charlie smirked.

"Please, just call me Robert," he responded with smile.

Charlie guffawed at the joke. "And you call me a dork."

Dean almost always used an alias, preferably a singer or musician from his favorite bands, when making a reservation nowadays. He didn't want anyone to recognize his real name from the paper and give him special treatment. He wanted to be treated like any Joe Schmo while reviewing a restaurant. Tonight he chose the lead singer from Led Zeppelin.

While following Charlie and the hostess, Dean took in the room. There were about fifteen tables scattered in various positions around the dining room, all lit by candlelight. The smooth sounds of jazz music flitted through the air over hushed conversations. It invoked the ambiance of romance and intimacy.

When reaching their table, Dean promptly pulled out Charlie's chair and helped her scoot in toward the table. A blush rose to his cheeks once he noticed the _you-chivalrous-bastard_ look on his best friend's face. Dean ignored her, and placed his napkin in his lap.

The hostess handed each of them a menu before adding, "Tonight's special is the blackened Mahi-mahi with a satsuma butter sauce, served with butter poached asparagus and Cajun rice."

"Thank you," Dean replied.

"Your server will be with you shortly," the girl said with a shy smile as she walked away.

After perusing the menu for a bit, Dean's eyes wandered around the room again. Their table was situated almost directly in the center of the dining area. He noticed all but two of the tables were occupied. The same hostess that seated them entered the room with an older couple, and directed them to a vacant table.

To his left was a raised platform for a stage and a dance floor. Two men were milling about the stage, adjusting microphone stands and tweaking instruments. Dean could only assume they were preparing for the performance later that night.

Just to the right of the stage and on the outskirts of the dance floor, stood a full bar. Behind the bar top, the wall was filled with a couple hundred bottles of alcohol and liqueurs, all different colored glass. In front of the bar was a row of comfy-looking red leather and chrome bar stools. Perched upon one of bar stools was a man in a dark suit and blue tie. He was leaning with his back against the bar and elbows resting on the hard surface. He placidly stirred the drink in his hand with the red straw from the glass. A shock of dark, messy hair lay atop his head, sticking up in all directions.

Dean watched as the other man continued to poke and prod at the ice cubes within the glass. He was mesmerized.

The man suddenly raised his eyes to the crowd in the dining area, and Dean sucked in a sharp gasp. His gaze was met with two of the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. An electric thrum pulsed through Dean's body, and it was as if he couldn't turn his eyes away.

The man at the bar held Dean's stare while sipping from his drink glass slowly, and finally broke the connection when he turned his attention to the stage. His focus returned back to Dean, only to be disrupted when the server arrived to take their drink orders.

"Hi, my name is Garth, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I git ya to drink tonight?" the server asked, setting down a cocktail napkin in front of both Charlie and Dean.

"I'll have a pint of the house beer on tap, please," Charlie informed their tall, lanky server.

"Uh, make that two," Dean quickly added.

"Okay. Sounds good. Are y'all ready to order or do ya need a few more minutes?" he asked, looking between the two friends.

"I'm ready if you are," Charlie piped up, taking in her friend's flustered nature.

Dean realized he hadn't decided on anything, yet, and was too preoccupied with Blue Eyes at the bar. "Uh, I still need a minute or so to decide."

"No worries. I'll go git your beers and let ya think it over." The server scurried off in the direction of the bar.

Dean's gaze slid back to the bar, and Blue Eyes was still watching, intently. He felt his skin rapidly warm under the stare and averted his own eyes.

He looked up at Charlie who wore a questioning look.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah! Why?" Dean blurted out.

"Just wondering," she countered. "'Cause you're blushing."

This, in turn, made Dean blush harder. _Had she caught him staring at Blue Eyes?_

He turned back to the menu in his hand. "Naw, it's just a little warm in here to me."

Charlie lowered her eyes to her menu with a smile settling on her lips.

_Fuck! There was no way she could have seen, right? Unless..._

Dean's heart stilled in his chest. _No. She didn't see anything._

"It wouldn't have anything to do with Mr. Dreamy at the bar, does it?" Charlie asked, continuing to look at her menu. "'Cause you can't seem to take your eyes off of him."

"I-I have no idea what you're talkin' about," Dean responded, wide-eyed.

"Puh-lease. You are practically eye-fucking the poor guy," she retorted in a loud whisper.

"Wha-what?!" he stammered. "I-I'm definitely not eye-fuckin' anyone. And if I was, it wouldn't be any guy!"

"Uh-huh."

Dean stared at his tablemate incredulously. He was speechless. He couldn't believe his best friend, of all people, thought he was checking out some guy. Dean Winchester was _not_ checking out the guy with the _just-been-fucked_ hair and the pink, kissable mouth and-

_Shit! What was he doing?!_

"And they say denial is just a river in Egypt," the red head snickered.

"Shut up, Charlie!" Dean growled, turning back to his menu.

He tried his damnedest to concentrate on the printed words before him. Anything to try to take away the feeling of blue eyes boring into his skin.

It was like an itch he couldn't scratch.

Dean tried to muster every ounce of self-control he had to not peer over his menu; to connect green eyes to blue. He wouldn't give in to the need to look.

When he thought he would break and take a peek, the server returned with their beers. Dean relinquished a breath he didn't realized he was holding in.

"Have you folks decided?" Garth the server asked after placing a pint glass in front of each patron.

Charlie shot a look which seemed to portray " _did you finally decide or still too busy gawking at the hottie in the suit._ "

"Yeah, I'm ready," Dean answered, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

"Alright, ladies first," Garth said, positioning his body toward Charlie.

Charlie simpered at the slight scowl playing across her co-worker's face.

"I'll have the three course meal with the French Quarter Salad, Lemon Chicken Pasta, and Pineapple Upside Down Cake for dessert," she said, handing her menu to the spindly limbed server.

"And for you, sir?" Garth asked, turning to Dean.

"I'll start with the Louisiana Crab Cake. Followed by the Smothered New York Steak, please," Dean stated, forfeiting his menu.

"How would you like your steak cooked?"

"Medium."

"Sounds good. I'll put this in right away," Garth remarked, turning on his heel to leave.

Once the other man left, Dean snuck a quick glimpse toward the bar area to find it empty. He slumped a little in his chair at the discovery. _Why was he disappointed?_

Noticing her friend's glum look, Charlie responded, "I would have stared at him all night, too, if he'd stuck around."

Dean sighed and tried to play it off, "Actually, I was thinking about work."

"Is Crowley giving you shit still? I thought you finished that review for him?"

"I did. He was acting so weird about it. I dunno," Dean informed, sipping his beer. "Speaking of weird...have you met the owner of LWJ?"

"Mr. Adler?"

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, that guy gives me the heebies with a side of jeebies," Charlie said shivering.

"Right?! There's something off with him," Dean exclaimed. _So it's not just me!_

"Why? What happened?" Charlie asked with concern in her voice.

"Nothin' really. Ran into him on the elevator, and he just gave me this weird vibe."

"Definitely someone I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley late at night," Charlie quipped.

Dean chuckled, "You wouldn't want to meet _anyone_ in a dark alley late at night. You barely weigh a buck soppin' wet."

"Hey! I'm picking up on some moves from LARPing," she rebutted, crossing her arms across her chest.

Dean snorted, "I don't think a cardboard and foil sword will save you from being attacked.

He reached across the table and patted her shoulder, trying to placate the glower on his friend's face.

"Buck up, buttercup. If you ever met Mr. Adler in an alley in a video game, you'd definitely kick his ass."

Charlie fought to keep the grin from rising on her face. "Yeah, that's true."

"I know ya know!" Dean claimed. "You're scary good."

"Well, when it's your job to play video games, you learn a trick or two."

Dean sat back in his seat, admiring the pride Charlie took in her gaming skills. She was quite the force to be reckoned with.

He sipped his beer while she chattered on about the latest first person shooter she was reviewing.

Moments later, their appetizers arrived at the table.

Charlie's plate was heaping with fresh mixed greens, candied pecans, and halved cherry tomatoes. It was tossed together and lightly drizzled with a cider vinaigrette. Dean wasn't much for rabbit food, but enjoyed the bite Charlie proffered him.

His Louisiana Crab Cake came nestled on a bed of fire roasted corn cucumber salsa and topped with a creole mustard drizzle. The crab cake was a nice golden brown on the outside and fluffy, not soggy, on the inside. The salsa and drizzle added a nice zip to the dish with a touch of the bayou. Charlie practically moaned around the bite Dean slid onto her salad plate. He pretended not to notice when she snuck a second bite off his plate. It really was _that_ good.

Conversation between the pair seemed to flow freely, and settled on Sam's upcoming wedding at one point. Dean was, of course, the best man. He admitted he was afraid it was going to be a destination wedding, and he'd have to fly to get there. He hated planes with a passion. _Flying fuckin' death traps._ Luckily, they had chosen a venue in Kansas City.

Their main courses soon arrived, and they dove right in. Charlie's Lemon Chicken Pasta was chicken breast with cheese tortellini, sweet sausage, cherry tomatoes, white beans, and rapini in a lemon garlic white wine sauce.

"This is _so_ good," Charlie said, spearing a piece of chicken and tortellini with her fork.

Dean's steak was definitely smothered as advertised. It came covered in a horseradish madeira demi-glace with caramelized onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, and potatoes pontalba on the side. The first bite practically melted in his mouth. He couldn't help the quiet groan that escaped his mouth.

"Holy shit. I think this is the best steak I've ever had," Dean admitted after another bite.

He scraped a few pieces onto Charlie's plate, and all she could do was nod in agreement while chewing the meat in her mouth. She returned the gesture, and scooped a part of her meal onto Dean's plate.

"God, this is really good, too!" he exclaimed behind a mouthful of chicken and pasta. "As long as the service remains good, I'm not gonna have a problem writing my review."

As the words finished tumbling from his mouth, Dean observed their server approach their table.

"How'd everything turn out tonight?" Garth questioned, looking between the two friends. "Anything else I can getcha?"

"No, everything is awesome," Dean replied. "Compliments to the chef."

Charlie straighten in her chair, shaking her head in concurrence.

"That's good to hear. I'll let Chef Lafitte know your meal is to your likin'," Garth smiled, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop. He ambled off toward the kitchen.

Three-quarters of the way through their meal and after a second round of beer later, the band finally took the stage. A young woman in a red dress and dark hair done up in victory rolls was accompanied by the rest of the band.

Charlie's eyes lit up when she noticed what was happening. "Yay! I heard they do some really good covers," she informed, eyes never leaving the girl in red.

Dean turned his head towards the stage. "Where'd you hear that again?" he inquired.

"Around," she muttered.

Dean was entranced by the sight of the red head. _Was she making heart-eyes at the singer?_ His eyebrows shot to his hairline when he heard her sigh.

"Dottie looks so beautiful tonight."

"Hey, Red. Who's Dottie?"

"She's the sing-"

Charlie turned back to face her friend with a grimace on her face.

"How long have you been dating?" Dean quizzed.

"Dammit," she hissed under her breath.

She exhaled a big puff of air. "A few weeks. I was gonna tell ya. I've just never seen her perform, yet, and I knew she was playing here tonight. I'm sorry Dean. I didn't want ya to think I only wanted to come because of Dottie. Now that I've tasted the food, Dottie is just a bonus."

Dean huffed out a small laugh. "Don't worry, Charlie. I'm glad you came."

The stage lights suddenly popped on, and the instruments hummed to life. A voice sounded through the room.

 

 _Life is a mystery_  
Everyone must stand alone  
I hear you call my name  
And it feels like home

 

Dean felt all the happiness he was experiencing moments ago drain from his body. He threw a look of utter discontent to his companion.

"What?" she wondered.

 

 _When you call my name it's like a little prayer_  
I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there  
In the midnight hour I can feel your power  
Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there

 

Dean's frown deepened. "I thought you said these were good covers?"

"Dude, seriously? How can you not like [Like A Prayer](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UM-1ETeSdXg)? It's a classic!"

"Haven't we already established all the music I like are hair metal bands? I don't do bubble gum pop!" he returned, watching a few couples head to the dance floor.

Dean snagged his beer from the table, and took a big gulp. Returning his glass to the table's surface, he tried to focus back on the food still in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the bodies swaying along to the melody.

 

 _I hear your voice, it's like an angel sighing_  
I have no choice, I hear your voice  
Feels like flying  
I close my eyes, oh God I think I'm falling  
Out of the sky, I close my eyes  
Heaven help me

 

The song ended a few minutes later, and a new tune filled the air. Without hearing the lyrics, Dean immediately recognized the song. He scowled down at his steak, and reached blindly for his beer again. This beat was faster than the original, but he knew that saxophone riff anywhere.

"Really?!"

"What? Not a fan of [Wham!](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lVXziMFEqX0)?"

 

 _I feel so unsure_  
As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor  
As the music dies  
Something in your eyes  
Calls to mind a silver screen  
And all of the sad goodbyes

 _I'm never going to dance again_  
These guilty feet have got no rhythm  
Though it's easy to pretend  
I know you're not a fool  
I should have known better than to cheat a friend  
A wasted chance that I've been given  
So I'm never going to dance again  
The way I danced with you  
Oh

 

Dean had wished Dottie couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. It would have made it so much easier to dislike what he was hearing. She, fortunately (and unfortunately), could sing. The catchy beat pulled him in, and he found his foot tapping along. _Fuckin' Wham!_

The sounds of the saxophone lulled him into a sense of complacency, which he snapped out of once he noticed himself humming along. He glanced up from his now empty plate to find Charlie giggling.

"Shut up."

"You loooove Wham!"

"You shut your mouth! I like _this_ version, nothing more!"

Charlie cackled at Dean's sputtering. _Ah, hell._

Garth materialized at the table once again to clear dishes and ask about dessert.

"I know the lady has dessert comin', but anything for the gentleman?"

Dean glanced at the dessert menu, and the word pie immediately caught his eye. "Uh, I'll have the Lemon Ice Box Pie."

"Good choice. Dessert will be right along." Garth said as he sauntered off with their dirty plates.

The Wham! cover had finally ended, and the familiar chords of another song tickled Dean's eardrum. He perked up a little trying to place the music. The instant Dottie opened her mouth to sing the first note, realization dawned on him.

"[Sweet Child o' Mine](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kJ3BAF_15yQ)!" Dean cried out.

 

 _She's got a smile that it seems to me_  
Reminds me of childhood memories  
Where everything  
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky

 _Now and then when I see her face_  
She takes me away to that special place  
And if I stared too long  
I'd probably break down and cry

_Sweet child o' mine  
Sweet love of mine_

 

"Yay! You got your hair metal!" Charlie chuckled.

She laughed even harder once she noticed Dean flipping her the bird.

Dean knew every word, and couldn't help singing along. He even caught Charlie singing along to the chorus. _Can't go wrong with a little GnR! And the jazz version wasn't too bad either!_

As the song was ending, dessert was delivered. Charlie's Pineapple Upside Down came like a personalized cake dipped in a gooey brown sugar glaze. A ring of pineapple lay atop the cake with a maraschino cherry in the center. A scoop of Tres Leches ice cream melted down the sides of the warm cake. A vanilla bean drizzle encircled the cake in an intricate pattern. It wasn't just pretty looking, but also delicious.

Dean's Lemon Ice Box Pie wasn't your run-of-the-mill pie. It had a crumbly graham cracker crust with a creamy, custard-like lemony filling, and topped with chantilly cream. The slice of pie was accentuated by a raspberry coulis and blueberries. If it had been acceptable, he would have licked his plate clean once he was finished.

Stuffed to the gills, Dean sat back in his seat, and mentally catalogued the meal. He couldn't name a single aspect of the dining experience that wasn't pleasant. _Well, unless you count the band's choice in songs._

A light banter flowed between friends while they both enjoyed the soothing sounds of jazz music from the band and the last of their drinks. Dean's frazzled nerves needed this pick-me-up.

Charlie tried to get her colleague on the dance floor during a slow song, but he was adamant in his decision to stay put in his seat. He did not dance.

After that, they mostly sat in companionable silence. Charlie occasionally added little tidbits about Dottie, but mostly swayed to the rhythm of the music.

At one point, Dean glimpsed at his watch to check the time. 8:34 pm. He wasn't ready to go home now the bill was paid. He was enjoying his time with Charlie outside their homes and Netflix subscriptions. _Would she be up to going somewhere else? Maybe a bar? Play some pool?_

The look in her eyes he saw when he glanced over told him no. She was totally smitten with the girl in the band. A genuine smile crept across his face and reached his eyes at the realization. He was happy for her. Truly happy.

 

Lost in a daydream, Dean didn't catch the announcement Dottie made about taking a short intermission or what Charlie had said after.

She stared at him with a quizzical look.

"Sorry. What'd ya say?"

"I said I was gonna go say hi to Dottie."

"Sure, yeah, go for it," Dean responded.

"Are ya sure? I don't want it to feel like I'm ditching you," Charlie questioned.

"No, it's fine. Go say hi to your girlfriend. I'll just get another beer at the bar," Dean explained.

"I won't be long," she said as she got up from her chair.

"Take your time," he called after her. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean sauntered over to the bar area after his best friend was out of sight. He hadn't officially been ditched, but he knew what was coming.

"Whiskey, neat," was his answer to the bartender's question of _what can I getcha._

He settled into the barstool, and was surprised to find it as comfortable as it looked from the room.

Once his drink was poured, Dean took a sip and anticipated the burn. It was smoother than the normal whiskey he drank, but it warmed his gut just the same.

A few sips into his drink, the hairs on the back of neck stood on end. The feeling indicated someone was within close proximity to him, and he waited for it to pass. The electric thrum he felt earlier wormed its way back under skin. It felt alive with anticipation, making him on edge.

When the looming presence near him hadn't moved on, Dean shifted to his left; only to be met with the same bright, blue eyes from before. His breath caught in his throat.

_Holy shit!_

"Is this seat taken?" a deep voice requested, gesturing to the barstool on Dean's immediate left.

The words from the man's mouth sounded like they had been dragged across a gravel road. The harmony of sounds escaping Blue Eyes' lips caused Dean's cock a slight twitch. He internally groaned at the betrayal. _Wasn't it bad enough this guy looked the way he did? But add a goddamn voice like that to the package, and it just didn't seem fair!_

_Wait...what?_

Dean gulped audibly. "Naw, man. Take a load off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Postmodern Jukebox's covers and videos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos! They make my heart swell! :)

The man in the suit gracefully lowered himself down onto the stool next to Dean and straighten out his coat. He re-situated his backside from side to side and got comfortable. With a nod, he somehow silently communicated his drink order to the bartender. A few moments later, the bartender slid a tumbler filled with amber-colored liquid over ice in front of Blue Eyes.

Dean stared dumbfounded.

_What the hell? How often does this guy come in here?_

Repeating his gesture from earlier in the evening, the messy-haired man stirred the drink with the provided red straw.

Dean watched the swirling motion of the liquid and chunks of ice. _Who puts a straw in a stiff drink?_

"Where did your date scamper off to?" came the deep voice once again, not bothering to look up from his drink.

Dean blinked. "M-my date?"

The man raised his gaze and smirked. "Yeah, the red head," Blue Eyes answered.

Dean blinked again. "Who, Charlie? Naw, she's just a friend." he said, sipping his whiskey.

Blue Eyes simply nodded, sipping his drink as well.

"She's talkin' to her girlfriend, actually. The girl from the band, Dottie, is her girlfriend," Dean commented.

"I didn't know Dorothy had a girlfriend," Blue Eyes responded.

Dean snorted, and threw his arms up dramatically. "Neither did I. Charlie didn't tell me they were together until the band started playin'! Way to keep your best friend in the loop!"

The other man half-smiled at the gesticulation, taking another swallow of his drink. He swiveled his body on the stool toward Dean, legs splaying open slightly.

Dean followed the slow movement with his eyes.

An image of strong thighs wrapped around his middle suddenly flashed through Dean's mind upon seeing the hard muscles of Blue Eyes' quads straining in his slacks. He caught a hint of pink skim across Blue Eyes' bottom lip, wetting it. His breath hitched at the sight.

_The fuck?_

Dean clutched his glass as he took a big gulp of the inebriant. Get it together, Winchester!

An image of bodies glistening with sweat, tangled in sheets, and the pantings of _ooh, yes!_ soon floated to his mind's eye. Dean's mouth became very parched from the thought of the fantasy.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" Blue Eyes asked, staring straight at Dean.

The question snapped Dean out of his daydream. "Sorry, man. What?"

"I asked if you enjoyed your meal?" Blue Eyes repeated.

_That's a weird question to ask a stranger. But then again, the dude was starin' while I was eatin'._

"Oh. Uh, yeah, man. It's the best New Orleans-style cuisine I've had in awhile." Dean said, wiping his clammy hands along his pants. "The chef seems to know what he's doing."

A smile spread across Blue Eyes' face. "Well, I'd hope so, considering he's from Louisiana."

"'S that right? You buddies with the chef or something?"

Blue Eyes pushed his empty tumbler away from his person, and a fresh glass appeared within minutes from the bartender.

"We're not really buddies so much as we have a working relationship," Blue Eyes provided, taking a drink from the new glass.

_That's how the bartender knows his drink. How he knows Dottie and the chef. The guy works here!_

"Ah, so you work together?" Dean questioned.

"Something like that," Blue Eyes answered, focus back on Dean.

"So, what do you do with the restaurant?" he inquired, gesturing to the bartender for another drink.

Dean watched the other man blindly slide his finger through the condensation on the side of his glass, and lick the gathered liquid off the long digit.

Dean's dick twitched once again, enjoying the action performed before it.

Blue Eyes slowly leaned forward.

Dean caught a whiff of expensive-smelling shampoo, cinnamon, and bourbon wafting from the man. The scents encompassed him like a cloud. He relished the smells and inhaled deeply.

Blue Eyes maneuvered into Dean's personal space, lips practically touching the shell of his ear, and whispered, "I own it."

Dean jerked back, wide eyed. "Y-you own it? The restaurant?"

"Yes, the restaurant," the man supplied, reaching out his hand toward Dean. "Castiel Novak."

_Holy fucking shit! He owns the restaurant. He owns Fallen. I am in the process of reviewing his restaurant! What do I do? He can't know who I am!_

Dean paused before giving him an alias. "Robert. Robert Plant," he said, grasping Castiel's hand and pumping it twice.

What felt like an electric current zinged up his arm. Every hair on that side of his body seemed to be standing on end. Dean had never felt anything like it. His pulse quicken as he shifted in his seat.

"Nice to meet you, Robert." Castiel verbalized.

_Must not be a fan of Led Zeppelin._

"Yeah, likewise," Dean agreed, dropping the blue-eyed man's hand. The electric current he felt ceased once the skin-on-skin contact was broken.

"So, wow. The restaurant business, huh? How's that going?" Dean winced as soon as the words tumbled out. _You fuckin' idiot._

Castiel smiled softly. "Not too bad actually. We've only been open six weeks, but we've received very high praise from patrons. I am waiting for the review from the local newspaper's food critic, to be honest. I hear he can be quite tough."

Dean choked on his drink at hearing that. He spluttered a few times, trying to regain his composure.

Castiel looked on in concern, patting Dean on the back gently.

"Damn drink went down the wrong way," Dean explained. He exhaled a shaky breath and continued, "Yeah, I heard that food critic guy can be a real douche. Really lays it into places he doesn't like. I wouldn't worry, though. If the food's as good as it was tonight when he comes in, you'll get a gold star."

The praise earned him another smile from the blue-eyed man.

"I hope you are correct in your assumption, Robert."

"Of course I'm right. Just wait an' see," Dean said with a wink. _Did I just wink?!_

The two sat together in silence, each sipping on their respective drinks. Castiel faced toward Dean again, swirling the ice in his tumbler.

"So, Robert. What is it you do?" He asked curiously.

Dean so badly wanted to say he was the food critic for the Lawrence World-Journal, but what came out was, "I'm a mechanic. I fix up cars."

It wasn't a complete lie. He _did_ help out in his Uncle Bobby's garage on Saturdays and any other day he felt like swinging by when he wasn't swamped with his real job.

"I've always been fascinated with people who work with their hands. It must be so rewarding being able to put a car back together with your own bare hands," Castiel expressed jubilantly.

"It's not too bad," Dean admitted. "I rebuilt my Baby from the ground up one time."

"Your baby?" Castiel questioned.

"Yeah, Baby. My 1967 Chevy Impala," Dean answered with a slight blush.

"Ah, Baby is your car." Castiel mused. "Now, see. I've never done anything like that. I just crunch numbers and sign my name all day."

"I imagine running a restaurant is pretty rewarding, too." Dean added.

"Not really. I'm not responsible for the food. That's all Benny. My brother is in charge of hiring the entertainment. Like I said, I crunch the numbers. Basically, I sign everyone's checks and pay the bills." Castiel said glumly.

"Hey, and without that, nothing would be run as smoothly as it is, right? Someone's gotta pay the vendors to get the food for Benny, was it? Right? You sound way more important than you give yourself credit for," Dean acknowledged.

Castiel scanned Dean's face for any misgivings, but found only genuine admiration.

"My idea of opening a restaurant included a lot more grandeur, but thank you, Robert. For the encouragement."

Dean found himself smiling at the other man. "No problem, Cas."

"Cas?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, Castiel is quite a mouthful," Dean confessed, pink coloring the tops of his cheeks.

"I suppose Cas is better than what my brother calls me," the restaurateur added, fiddling with a cocktail napkin.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" Dean asked, nudging Castiel's right elbow with his left.

He had a look on his face which conveyed, _oh, hell no_ , and Dean worried he wouldn't spill.

"Cassie," Castiel mumbled. "Reminds me of a 12-year-old girl in braids, not a grown man."

Dean huffed. "You remind me of my brother. He used to hate it when I called him Sammy. Used to bitch that it was the name of a chubby 10-year-old."

Castiel was about to respond when giggling interrupted the moment.

Both men looked over their shoulders to see Charlie and Dottie strolling across the dance floor, hand-in-hand. The girls made their way over to the bar. Charlie beamed at the sight of Dean sitting beside Mr. Dreamy from earlier.

"Hey!" she said, looking between Dean and Castiel. "I'm glad you're still here. I wanted to introduce you to Dottie. Dottie, this is my good friend-"

Dean panicked. He shoved his hand out at Dottie. "Robert."

Dottie shook his hand firmly. "It's nice to finally meet you, Dottie," Dean assured.

"You, too," the singer answered. She turned to Charlie with a look of misunderstanding plastered across her face.

Charlie furrowed her brow in confusion. She looked at Dean, trying to figure out the need for the alias.

Before she could ask, Dean blurted out, "This is Castiel. He owns Fallen."

He watched and recognized the instant everything finally made sense to Charlie. Her eyes widen, and her mouth fell into an O.

"Nice to meet you, Castiel. I'm Charlie," she greeted, offering her hand to him.

Castiel's hand encircled the red head's hand, and he nodded to her. "Hello, Charlie."

His gaze shifted to the singer. "Dorothy."

"Right. Of course you know her. You're her boss," Charlie spouted.

Dean chuckled at his friend.

There was an awkward pause before Charlie turned to Dean. "I was gonna stick around for the rest of Dottie's set, and then just catch a ride home with her afterwards. If that's okay with you."

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. I was just finishing up here anyway," Dean explained, catching Castiel's movements out of the corner of his eye.

"Alright. Well, thanks for dinner," she said, pulling him off his stool into a hug.

She wrapped her arms around his body, and whispered into her friend's ear, "Get his number before you leave."

Dean pulled her tight against his chest. "What? No. Even if I was into dudes, it'd be a conflict of interest."

Charlie pulled away from the hug. "That's a bullshit excuse. I saw the way you were looking at him earlier, and you know it."

Dean planted a kiss on top of her head without a reply to her accusation. "Goodnight, Charlie."

Charlie sighed, and walked back to Dottie's side. "'Night, _Robert_."

More pleasantries were exchanged before the girls walked away.

Dean turned away from the dance floor as soon as Charlie and Dottie were out of sight. He reached for his wallet, and threw several bills down on the bar top to settle his tab.

He was enjoying his time with Castiel, but knew it wouldn't go anywhere no matter what Charlie thought. He wasn't into men for one thing, no matter how much his dick protested. He didn't even know if Castiel liked guys. He probably didn't.

It couldn't go anywhere because whatever _it_  was started on a lie. How do you go back on that? _Hey, funny story. Name's Dean, not Robert. I just said that because I was reviewing your restaurant at the time. Ha, ha._ Dean grumbled internally.

He turned to Castiel to catch a slight frown on his face. Dean sunk further into his weird mood. Was he sad because he was leaving? Was it because he couldn't pursue anything with the blue-eyed restaurant owner? _Ugh, I'm so fucking confused!_

Dean decided to play it off. He reached his hand out toward Castiel. "It was good meetin' ya, Cas."

The seated man clasped Dean's hand, and _zap!_ The electric charge returned the instant their skin touched. The connection between them was undeniable, but Dean wouldn't allow himself to be pulled in.

Dean's skin prickled the longer they shook hands. "You've got a good thing here. Keep it up, and you'll get that review you're lookin' for."

Dean smiled, searching the pools of sapphire before him. Looking for something. Anything.

"Thank you, Robert. I appreciate it," Castiel replied. He dropped Dean's hand.

Dean pivoted on his heel, and started toward the exit. "'Night, Cas," he called over his shoulder.

The man in question raised his hand, and waved a quick goodbye.

Dean headed out to his car, with a sense of accomplishment. He enjoyed his meal and experience at Fallen. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, though, giving him a feeling that he wasn't quite through with Fallen.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Hours later, Dean lay tossing and turning in his bed. He couldn't seem to settle his mind or his body for sleep. Visions of a certain restaurant owner kept returning to his mind, no matter what he thought of. The visions seemed to leave a certain part of his body at persistent attention. He tried willing his erection away, but it only seemed to encourage his subconscious to supply more thoughts of Castiel.

Dean thought he made it perfectly clear that he wasn't attracted to men, and wouldn't alleviate his problem by touching himself. He was only into women. _Except that one time, sophomore year of college_. He and his friend Aaron got drunk and kissed. Dean blamed it on the booze, not any latent homosexual urges. _What about your attraction to Harrison Ford?_ He thought he was badass, not a hot piece of ass. _Right_?

_Fuck!_

He had to give in to this urge. There was no way to quell it without giving in.

Dean slid his hand underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. He gently wrapped his fingers around his half-hard cock, and brushed the length of it with his fingertips. After a few strokes, he was at full hardness. He pulled himself from his briefs, exposing his erection to the cool air of his bedroom. Dean swiped his thumb over the head, and gathered the pearly liquid seeping from the slit. He had been weeping all night, and any precome that hadn't pooled into his underwear was now smeared along his shaft and head.

He let out a soft moan as his hand steadily moved up and down.

His mind was completely flooded with thoughts of bright blue eyes and lithe muscles and scratchy five o'clock shadow. He imagined a low rumble groaning against his neck as their bodies intertwined.

His fingers caressed dark locks as full lips kissed down his body.

Stubbled cheeks scraped against inner thighs and deft digits played cautiously at his sack.

The pace of Dean's strokes increased as the fantasy played on.

A nose nuzzled at the wiry curls at the base of his cock. Lips pressed along the length of his erection, followed by a long swipe of a pink tongue.

"Oh, yes," Dean moaned, hitching his T-shirt up to his armpits.

The tongue laved at his slit before a warm mouth swallowed his length in one go. A strong hand alternated between pumping the base and massaging his balls carefully.

Dean's hand flew up and down his cock, matching the imaginary bobbing pace of a hot, moist mouth. His hips came off the bed every time he fucked up into his hand.

His breaths were shallow, short puffs. Beads of sweat gathered across his brow.

The feeling of a coil twisting inside him built warm inside his belly. He knew he was getting close.

Uncensored moans escaped his lips as the pleasure he felt spread throughout his body.

His fingers twined tightly in soft, dark hair as a mouth eased up and down his dick.

A pair of soulful, half-lidded blue eyes looked up from his crotch. His hips shuddered.

He grunted out, "Fuck, yeah, Cas!" and Dean was gone. The coil within his belly snapped, and thick, white ropes of come painted over his hand and stomach.

He worked himself through his orgasm before going completely boneless. His breath heaved, and his heart pounded like a bass drum in his chest.

He reached for a box of tissues on his nightstand to clean up his mess. After wiping his body off of cooling come, Dean tucked himself back into his underwear and settled back into bed.

It wasn't until then did he realize the full magnitude of what he'd done. _I jacked off to the thought of a guy sucking me off! I screamed his name when I came!_

He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

_What the fuck?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who left kudos and subscribed! Means a lot to me! Also, thank you for your patience while I tried to crank out this chapter. :)

Sunlight filtered softly into Dean's bedroom through the window's blinds, at what seemed like an ungodly hour. It was still very quiet out. No birds chirping or cars rumbling past. If Dean had to bet, he'd guess it was just dawn. He squinted a peridot-green eye at his bedside alarm clock. _6:45 am._ He sighed while rolling onto his back from his belly. _Dawn was at least an hour ago._

Thoughts of last evening's events whirled through his head. The food. The music. The owner.

_The owner's eyes. And lips. And-_

Memories of Dean's nocturnal extracurricular activities came flooding back. He flung an arm over his eyes, and sighed once again.

A tiny spot of dried, itchy come on his stomach was evidence enough to prove Dean had, indeed, masturbated to thoughts of the dark haired man sloppily sucking his cock down his throat. Dean's dick jerked lazily at the images assaulting his brain.

He groaned at the hardening appendage, and threw back his bed covers, "I don't have time for this!"

Dean lumbered to the kitchen, gathering supplies to make his morning coffee. After pouring fresh water and coffee grounds into the coffeemaker, he trudged back to the en suite bathroom.

He manipulated the shower knob to the perfect temperature and let the water warm up. Dean disrobed of his underwear and t-shirt, leaving them on the tiled floor as he waited for the steam to start billowing from the shower stall.

Leaning against the sink counter, he scrubbed a hand down his face. His thoughts kept coming back to a pair of dark eyelash-lined cerulean eyes. _Why was this guy affecting me so much?_

Dean glanced down at the raging hard-on staring him in the face. "Oh, c'mon!" he growled.

Agitated, Dean slipped into the shower to wash. Today was _not_ the day he started letting his dick call the shots. His big head was the one in charge!

He lathered up his body with a little more haste than usual. He was not going to give his dick the satisfaction of being wet, slippery, and soapy. Just the thought of the adjectives caused his hardness to swell. Dean rolled his eyes in reply.

After a thorough rinse off, he stepped out of the shower onto the fluffy bathmat. Dean grabbed the towel hanging on the towel rack, and rubbed his body dry. Once the task was completed, he wrapped the towel around his waist.

He smirked at the action. He lived alone, so there was no need to cover up. _Must be out of habit,_ he thought.

Dean walked over to his closet, and slid the mirrored door open. He reached in and grabbed the first t-shirt he saw. It was one of the numerous faded concert t-shirts he owned. He placed the soft, worn garment over his head, and snaked his arms through their respective holes.

Dean made his way toward his dresser to pull out clean underwear and socks and a pair of ratty jeans. He slipped the items on, and walked over to the closet again once he was finished dressing. He examined his reflection, and combed his fingers through his damp hair. The light brown locks spiked up under his persuasion.

When he was satisfied with his appearance, Dean returned to the kitchen for his coffee and a quick bite to eat.

Although he had plenty of time to drink it at home, Dean poured the fresh coffee into a travel mug. The less time he spent alone at home, the better. He needed the distraction of the garage to take his mind and dick off of Castiel. Getting lost in a car's engine always seemed to help focus his thoughts.

Dean quickly grabbed a powdered donut from the pink bakery box next to the coffeemaker before heading for the door. He grabbed his keys and wallet, and locked his home's front door.

Baby purred to life after Dean turned her engine over. He revved her a few times. _Probably not the best thing to do at 7:15 in the morning,_ he thought sheepishly. Swiftly, he pulled out of the driveway before anyone could complain and drove across town.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean cruised into the parking lot of Singer's Auto Shop at 7:37 am. He was the first mechanic there, besides Bobby. Technically, Bobby lived above the garage, so he was always there.

Dean waltzed through the door marked Employees Only to a row of metal lockers. As he was stepping into a pair of clean cover-alls, Bobby poked his head out of his office.

"What are you doin' here so early, boy?"

"I got a lot on my mind this morning. Needed the distraction," Dean replied, shrugging into the top half of the cover-alls.

"You better git yer head clear. I don't need you fuckin' up anyone's car. Y'hear?"

"Loud an' clear," Dean answered with a smile.

One word to describe Bobby Singer was surly. He took shit from no one. He could be downright scary when he was mad. Behind the grizzly beard and old trucker hats, though, was a big ol' teddy bear. Dean never took too much of what Bobby said to heart.

"What's the plan for the day?" Dean called out, stuffing a couple of rags into his cover-all pockets.

"First appointment is at 8:30. Just a few oil changes and a brake job throughout the day. Nothin' too extensive," the older man answered from the office. "Y'know, the occasional drop-ins, too."

It sounded perfect. Very mundane.

"Before yer shift starts, can ya do an inventory check? I'm placin' an order on Monday for supplies we're low on," Bobby asked.

"Yeah. Sure thing," Dean answered, pushing the door to the garage open.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Twenty-five minutes later, Dean was finished with the supply check and had a list for Bobby. He found the other man sitting behind a computer in the reception area. Dean glanced at his watch to check the time. _8:13._

"Where's Ava? Shouldn't she be here by now?" Dean questioned. Ava wasn't usually known for tardiness.

"I gave her the day off. Said she had a bunch of wedding stuff to do."

Dean grinned. "You playing reception for the day?"

"Yes, idjit." Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "Speakin' of weddings...how's the planning comin' along for Sam and Jess?"

Dean shrugged. "Okay, I guess. It's, like, six weeks away."

"Being the best man an' all, Sam havin' ya run any wedding errands yet?"

"I went with 'em for the cake tasting. I think I walked outta there five pounds heavier. Who knew cake was so tasty?"

Bobby's eyebrows shot up to the bill of his hat. "Are you turnin' to the dark side?"

Dean chuckled. "Don't get me wrong. Cake is pretty good, but you can't beat a freshly baked pie."

"When is it again?" Bobby asked, clicking on the computer's calendar. "Need to know when I haveta close the shop."

"July eleventh, I think. Sammy said the invitations went out yesterday. You should get yours today or Monday, old man."

"Old man? I'm not the one who's in the the damn thing an' don't know jack shit about it!"

"It's not like it's my wedding, and I have a say in anything. I go where they send me, and coordinate the strippers for the bachelor party. That is the extent of my responsibilities," Dean huffed.

As Dean was about to add to his rant, a deep voice sounded in the reception area.

"Hello, Robert."

All the blood drained from Dean's face as Bobby answered, "Yeah?"

Standing in front of the reception counter was none other than Castiel Novak. He was dressed in similar attire as last night. The tie and suit were a different color, but he still looked like he should be conducting a business meeting instead of in a grungy auto shop.

"Oh. I was actually addressing...him," Castiel responded, his gaze landing on Dean.

"Hey ya, Cas," Dean greeted, feeling woozy from the lack of blood circulating to his brain.

Bobby turned his head to Dean, and gave him a questioning look.

"I am pretty certain you told me your name was Robert last night," Castiel commented, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, no. It is," Dean blurted out. He watched at Bobby leaned against the counter with smirk.

"Then, why does your jumpsuit say Dean on it?"

_Shitshitshitshit_

"Dean's my middle name," he quickly answered. "I use it here so there isn't any confusion. Y'know, 'cause his name's Robert, too. 'Cept he goes by Bobby."

_Shut up, Dean!_

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see a look of _what-in-the-hell_ on Bobby's face.

"Oh, I see," the blue-eyed man said.

Trying to alleviate the awkwardness in the room, Dean immediately changed the subject. "So, Cas? What brings you in?"

"I actually have an appointment for an oil change and tire rotation. I wasn't stalking you, if that was what you were thinking," Castiel supplied.

Dean laughed. Bobby grimaced.

"I know I'm a little early for my 8:30 appointment, but I was kind of hoping you could get me in earlier."

"Yeah, of course, Cas. Let's see what we got here."

Bobby pulled up the appointment schedule on the computer, and sure enough, Castiel was the 8:30 appointment.

"You drive an '05 Honda Accord?" Dean inquired.

"Uh, yes?"

Dean chuckled. "Well, do ya or dontcha?"

"Y-yes, yes, I do," Castiel stuttered.

"Okay," Dean smiled, looking the other man in the eye. "Do ya have the key?"

"Oh, y-yes. It's right here," the dark haired man bumbled, raising up his keychain.

"I'm gonna need it, Cas. To pull your car in the garage."

"Of course, Robert," Castiel said, removing the car key from his keychain. He went to hand the key to Dean, but it slipped between his fingers, falling to the ground.

Dean was almost positive he heard a faint _fuck_ under Cas' breath. It made him smile again.

 _Ugh, he's so adorkable!_ Dean thought, watching Castiel fumble with the key on the floor.

Finally in his grasp, Castiel handed the key to Dean.

"It should take about about thirty minutes to get everything finished up. There's coffee over there. Magazines. Vending machine's around the corner. Make yourself comfortable," Dean explained.

"Thank you, Robert."

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

While removing the oil plug from Castiel's car's oil pan, Dean heard the the shuffle of feet nearby. He knew all too well who it was, and he wasn't ready for the interrogation.

Sliding out from underneath the car, Dean came face to face with Bobby. He was still wearing his smirk from earlier.

"So, Robert, huh?" the older man questioned.

Dean stared at him blankly. He wasn't in the mood. He was supposed to be forgetting about Castiel, not changing his oil.

"Doesn't seem like your boyfriend has any idea who you are," Bobby teased.

Dean's eyes rightfully bugged out of his head. _Boyfriend?!_

"Shuddup! He's the owner of the restaurant I reviewed last night. I ran into him at the bar, and gave him an alias. I didn't figure I'd ever see him again. No harm, no foul. 'Cept now, he's here, and still thinks my name's Robert!" Dean supplied.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "That's quite the pickle you got yerself into," he said sarcastically. "Good thing you probably won't see 'im again after today."

Bobby exited the garage, and left Dean to ponder his predicament. Bobby was right. _As always!_ Today's meeting was just a coincidence. There was no reason to get hung up on his lie. Even if Dean believed in fate, it wasn't like she was pushing Castiel Novak at him.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean entered the reception area to find Castiel reading a magazine, brow furrowed. He seemed to be deep in thought, and Dean had the feeling he was intruding. He took the opportunity to study the other man.

His blue orbs flitted across the text and pictures before him. Long, tanned fingers skimmed the glossy pages of the magazine in his lap. Dean's imagination quickly conjured an image of those eyes devouring every inch of his naked skin, while those fingers pressed delicious bruises into his biceps, his hips, his thighs.

Dean whimpered at the thought of Castiel massaging his skin.

The strangled noise must have been louder than he thought because he now was staring into the face of the man the fingers belonged to.

_Goddamn, he's beautiful. Wait, what?_

The awkward staring contest continued until the audible sound of Bobby clearing his throat broke Castiel's hold on Dean.

Dean shook his head gently, and tried to recover any speck of professionalism. "Uh, you're all set. Changed the oil, replaced the air filter, rotated the tires, and replaced the rear left brake light. It was burnt out."

Dean blushed at the smile turning up Castiel's lips.

"Thank you, Robert."

"Bobby here can help with anything else you need. Good seeing you again, Cas."

He stepped toward Castiel, his hand out in front of him.

The instant their palms touched, the familiar electric zing coursed up Dean's arm. He balked slightly at the sensation, but continued to grasp the other man's hand.

Castiel pumped his arm once, twice before adding, "Yes, you too."

Dean dropped Castiel's hand, and quickly turned away to head to the back of the building.

He practically leaped into the nearest doorway of an empty room to his left. He swiftly threw the door shut, and slammed his body up against it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves.

Realizing where he was after flipping on the light switch, Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. He strode over to the bathroom sink, and yanked the faucet on. He splashed cool water over his face, and stared up at his reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink.

He couldn't believe the person looking back at him was the same guy fantasizing about a man he'd met less than twenty-four hours ago. And he was letting it mess him up.

_What was happening?_

Dean grabbed a couple of paper towels, and wiped any remaining water droplets. He schooled his expression into one of nonchalance, and exited the small room.

He was not going to let a pair of blue eyes and sex hair disturb his day of forgetting about said blue eyes and sex hair. _I am supposed to be getting lost in engine parts and oil pans, for fuck's sake!_ Dean thought.

He returned to the shop floor where the next vehicle waited for service, demanded his attention.

_No time for distractions. I've got shit to do._

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean would like to say the rest of his day at Singer's Auto Shop was spent not thinking of Castiel Novak, but then, he'd be lying to himself. He was the only thought he had had in his head all day. A couple times Bobby needed to remind him to get his head out of the clouds when a simple procedure took him longer than usual to complete.

Even now, as he wiped his stomach and chest off of his spilled seed, his softening cock gave a half twitch at the thoughts of long, tanned fingers sliding up and down his shaft.

It was the first time since he was a teenager that his dick seemed to be purposely trying to ruin his life. Imagining a hand job from another dude was a far cry from the unexpected raging boner in math class, freshman year, but it was a close second.

He couldn't get around the fact his brain seemed to be in on his dick's sick joke. It was supplying the fantasies and scenarios for his dick's debauchery.

 _Why does it have to be a guy?_ Dean wondered. _Why this particular guy? And why do I have to be so weak and give in?_

With a huff, Dean walked to the bathroom to toss the soiled tissues into the garbage. As he returned to his bedroom to re-dress, his cell phone blared out the opening riff to Smoke on the Water. He glanced at the screen to see it was his brother calling.

"Sammy! How's it goin'?" Dean said.

"Hey, Dean. How are you?" Sam questioned.

"I'm fan-friggin-tastic," he replied.

"Really? That's not what Bobby said earlier when he called me."

Dean groaned into the phone. "That old man needs to mind his own business."

"He said you were pretty out of it. Like you were having a hard time concentrating. Especially after a certain customer came by," Sam pried.

_Oh, shit!_

"What? What customer?" Dean asked, playing dumb.

"I dunno. He didn't say. Just that you were extra distracted today."

"Yeah, well, I was distracted, but it wasn't over a customer," Dean admitted. _Liar, liar pants on fire!_

"It's just-I'm kinda stressed about work. My other work."

It wasn't a total lie. Castiel was involved in some aspect of his work, but Sam didn't need to know which part.

"I think I just need to go out, and shake myself outta this funk," Dean remarked. _In other words, get laid. By a woman. Forget about Castiel._

"Hey, man. Come out with me tonight. It can be our last hurrah before you get hitched."

"What about this epic bachelor party I keep hearing about? Isn't that our last hurrah?" Sam inquired.

"Naw, man. This'll be just you and me, out enjoying a couple of beers. Get our minds off things," Dean argued.

"I dunno, Dean. You always seem to ditch me when a better offer with big boobs and long legs comes along."

"Your big boobs and long legs are all I need tonight," Dean countered. _Well, until I find a pair of big boobs and long legs I like._

Sam chuckled, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean grinned.

"Fine, but I swear to god, if you ditch me-"

"Don't be such a baby, Samantha," Dean interrupted. "I'll be by in an hour."

Before Sam could add anymore to the conversation, Dean ended the call. They could talk plenty while Dean prowled the bars for a better distraction from a certain restaurateur.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait on this chapter! It's funny how life can get in the way. Between the kiddos, guitar lessons, half marathon training, and minor writer's block, this was slow coming. Hopefully, I'll be able to update more often as the school year ends, and life is not so hectic!
> 
> As always, thanks for the kudos, subscribers, and comments! You guys are awesome! Enjoy!

The impromptu get together started the same as any outing the Winchester brothers had at a bar. Dean ordered them each a beer and a shot of whiskey. He'd then ask his younger brother how the job was going at the law firm. Sam would reply, "Busy, but great!"

Sam would, in turn, ask about the newspaper, and if there were any new restaurants Dean would recommend. Sam and Dean had very different tastes in cuisine, but Sam always took an active interest in his brother's career.

The conversation would turn to Sam's fiancée, Jess, and her work at the hospital. Dean would jokingly make a comment about how Jess was too good for his brother, the lawyer. Sam would always roll his eyes, and retort, "You're just jealous I met her first."

The banter would continue back and forth for several minutes, and sometimes include Dean's flavor-of-the-week.

Dean would eventually scope out the bar's prospects like he was drafting players for a football team. He'd sit back for a few moments, check out their "playable" qualities before pouncing on some poor, unsuspecting girl.

_"Like shooting fish in a barrel!"_ Dean would always remark as got up to lure in his prey.

Sam would just chuckle and shake his head at the older Winchester.

They were as predictable as an old, married couple.

Except tonight.

Dean was working on his third beer, and hadn't even attempted to talk to a single "draftee." He kept muttering under his breath, "Too short...too tall...hair too long...hair not dark enough."

Sam watched his brother peel at the label of his beer bottle as he sat beside him. When had Dean ever been picky about what a person looked like? Something was definitely off, and Sam was going to get to the bottom of it.

His eyes followed the confident strut of a beautiful blonde as she bellied up to the bar. The very little amount of clothing on her person was tight, low-cut, and short. The expression she wore on her made-up face was that of one goal in mind: to fuck. She was exactly Dean's type.

Sam let out a low whistle. "Check out the legs on her."

Dean tracked Sam's line of sight to the blonde's backside. He looked her over for approximately three seconds before shrugging his shoulders. "Meh."

Sam wasn't always for Dean's wham-bam-thank you, ma'am lifestyle, but clearly, this woman was up to the level. Astonished, Sam asked, "Meh? Dude, you could bounce a quarter offa that thing. She's definitely got that 'Come hither' stare down pat."

"She's not my type, Sammy," Dean rebutted.

The younger Winchester nearly fell out of his seat at Dean's words. "Not your type?! Every woman in the fuckin' bar is your type, Dean!"

Dean let out a heavy breath. "Yeah, well, not tonight,"

"I thought the whole idea of this trip out was to get your mind off of work. I'm betting she'd do just that."

The two brothers watched as a douchey looking guy in a gold chain and slicked back hair sidled up to the blonde's left side. Any chance Dean might have had with her was now lost.

"Now that we're here," Dean admitted, "I'm not feelin' it."

Sam honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing. When was Dean ever not in the mood for a one night stand? Was he getting sick?

He slyly inched his seat away from his brother, in case it was contagious.

Sam then remembered his earlier conversation with Bobby. Something about a customer Dean had dealt with. Was that what this was about?

He decided on another approach to figure out what was going on.

"So...this customer Bobby mentioned..." Sam said, trying for casual.

Dean brought the amber bottle of beer in his hand to his plush lips and rolled his eyes. He set the bottle back on the table with a sigh, and continued to peel at the label.

"What about 'im?" Dean questioned without lifting his eyes to meet Sam's.

Sam didn't comment. If it weren't for the din of the bar, Dean would have been able to hear crickets chirping in some dark corner.

The pause was too long for Dean's taste, and he raised his gaze to Sam. He found his brother wide-eyed and mouth gaping. Dean took another swig from his beer, eyes never leaving Sam.

He could actually see the cogs turning in Sam's head.

"What?"

Sam was acting as if Dean had just confessed to murder.

Sam shook his head to displace the confusion he was experiencing. "I thought there wasn't a customer?"

_Shit! I had said that, huh?_ Dean thought.

"Well, I lied." Dean replied, downing the rest of his beer. "I do that sometimes."

"Did you say him? You said him, didn't you?"

Dean cringed. _Fuck!_

"Yeah," he answered, boring holes into the tabletop.

Sam sipped at his beer, trying to process the information he had just acquired. "So..."

"So..." Dean repeated.

"Who is he?"

Dean turned his head to face his brother. "No one, Sam."

One of Sam's trademark bitchfaces flashed in the dimmed lighting of the bar.

"I swear. He was just someone I met last night at a restaurant review. He happened to be the owner. And then, he brought in his car to the shop this morning for an oil change," Dean supplied.

He quickly signaled for another round as their waitress scurried by. If he was going to have this conversation with his brother, he definitely needed more alcohol.

"He's the reason you were distracted all day?" Sam asked innocently.

"Well, yeah. I felt bad about lyin' to the guy about my name, an' draggin' Bobby into the whole charade. I wasn't expecting to see the guy again, but he showed up at the shop. I couldn't exactly out myself."

Sam sniggered. Dean grimaced inwardly at the double entendre.

Sam stared at the crowd, contemplating the newer information.

Their waitress brought another beer and shot of whiskey for Dean as the two men sat in silence. Dean immediately shot back the whiskey. _Liquid courage in a shot glass._

Sam maneuvered his long limbs toward his older brother. His hazel eyes landed on Dean. "Is this what this is about? Why you haven't picked up on some girl tonight? It's all about some guy?"

Dean choked on the gulp of beer in his mouth. His body swiveled swiftly in its seat. "What?!" Dean asked incredulously.

_Did Sam just ask me if I'm gay?_

Sam's eyes were full of acceptance now, willing his brother to talk.

"Are you attracted him?"

Dean's eyes rounded in disbelief. "What?! No!" he answered, an octave higher than his normal register.

His dick twitched at the images stored in his memory. He shifted uncomfortably.

Sam's eyes pleaded with him. _Damn you, giant puppy dog!_

"Ugh," He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "I dunno, Sammy."

"It's okay if you do."

Why did it matter? It wasn't like Dean was going to see Castiel ever again. He was going to avoid Fallen at all costs.

They sat together in silence for a few beats.

"Y'know, I always had this inkling you were into dudes," Sam commented breezily.

"Dude, could you say it a little louder?" Dean reprimanded.

"Dean-" Sam started.

"Plus, I'm not gay."

"That's not what-"

"I still love the ladies. I mean, _really_ love 'em. I'm not canceling my subscription to Busty Asian Beauties anytime soon. I just...I just happen to find this one guy, in particular, good looking." Dean confessed, chugging half his beer.

_And maybe I want him to touch every surface of my body!_

"So you're bi. Nothing wrong with that," Sam reassured.

Dean groaned at Sam's assumption. "If it were true, you make it sound like I caught a cold. Not this huge, life-altering change in my identity!"

"It only has to be some huge, life-altering change if you make it out to be that."

"Really Sam?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes. "How do you think Dad's gonna react when he finds out? Hmm?"

Sam was taken aback by the question. "I-"

"I'll tell you what he's gonna do. He'll shit a brick!" Dean proclaimed.

Sam ground his teeth together. "Who cares about Dad's macho backward bullshit?"

"Says the guy engaged to someone with lady parts," Dean mumbles under his breath.

Sam threw him another bitchface. "Dean."

"What? Y'know I'm right," Dean said, taking another sip of beer.

Sam huffed out a breath. "Y'know what? I'm sorry for trying to help," he replied, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I thought you'd find it easier to grapple with this information with a little support."

Sam scrutinized Dean's inability to look him in the eye. "You're a grown-ass man who doesn't need his father's approval. Do what you want. Be who you truly are without caring what others think. That's the huge, life-altering change I'd be most concerned with."

Sam got up from his seat, and threw several bills down on the table. "Thanks for inviting me out, Dean. I'm gonna take a cab home."

Dean stared up in disbelief. The shaggy-haired man slipped his arms into his jacket, and turned away from his brother.

"Sammy, wait!" Dean watched as Sam turned to face him again. "You can't honestly think I'm gonna be a-okay with this realization after five minutes, do you? I haven't even begun to wrap my head around the possibility that I might be...bi. This changes everything that everyone has ever known about Dean Winchester."

"No, Dean," Sam countered, shaking his head. "It just changes who you prefer to love and have sex with. Everything else? It all stays the same."

Dean blinked up at him.

"You're still oddly in love with your car. You still love pie and greasy cheeseburgers. You still secretly love being Charlie's handmaiden. And whether you're bi, straight, green, or purple, you're still the best brother a guy could ask for."

He turned to the exit, and called over his shoulder, "Good night, Dean."

Sam's words hit Dean's chest like a ton of bricks. _Did it all really stay the same? Was he really the same person after all?_

_No_ , he thought. _Being queer changes everything!_

He sunk further into his seat, finishing another beer. As he waited for the waitress to circle back around, he scanned his fellow bar patrons. His eyes landed on a woman sitting at the bar, seemingly, all alone. He took in her shapely legs, plump bosom, and pouty lips. She had dark, medium-length wavy hair and blue eyes. Very pretty.

Dean wanted to go over and talk to her, but there was something about her that just wasn't right. Like all the others. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

He continued to watch her as he nursed his fresh beer. All he could think about as he stared at this stranger was blue.

_Blueblueblueblue_

Then, at last, it finally dawned on him what was wrong with this perfectly beautiful young woman.

Her eyes weren't the right shade of blue. Not dark enough.

_What the fuck?_ he growled. _I'm cockblocking myself! I can't get hung up on a guy I met twenty-four hours ago!_

Dean decided he didn't care if the girl's eyes were more crystal blue instead of sky blue. He was going to talk to her.

He scooped up the money Sam had thrown on the table and slid from his seat.

Two steps from reaching the bar, he heard it. Two steps from completing tonight's mission and finding a distraction. Two more steps, and he could have tuned out the sound of whiskey-soaked gravel.

"Hello, Robert," sounded from Dean's right.

Dean paused and inhaled deeply. _How is this my life?_

He turned toward the voice. "Heya, Cas."

Dean took in Castiel's appearance. He was wearing the same clothes as earlier that morning, minus the jacket and shirt sleeves now rolled to his elbow. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone and the tie loosened.

Castiel blushed under Dean's stare. "I swear, again, I'm not stalking you."

That deep timbre went straight to Dean's crotch. _Oh, for the love of-!_

"Whatcha doin' here then, Cas?" Dean questioned.

"I needed a drink," Castiel answered, flicking the wrist holding a glass tumbler.

"Don't you have alcohol at your restaurant? I'm pretty sure I partook in some last night when I was there."

"Yes, but my brother isn't here to grate on my nerves," Castiel confirmed.

"Ahhh. Is this the same brother that calls you Cassie?"

Castiel sighed. "Yes, Gabriel. He's only at the restaurant on Fridays and Saturdays, but he always finds a way to annoy me with his practical jokes or his abundance of littered candy wrappers."

Dean chuckled. "C'mon. It can't be that bad."

Castiel leveled him with a look that would put Sam's bitchface to shame.

"He stole my car keys yesterday, stuck them in a bowl of water, and placed them in the walk in freezer. I didn't find them until after closing."

Dean tried to contain his laugh, but it was no use. The noise spilled from his mouth, and mingled with the other noises of the bar.

"It's not funny, Robert! It took me fifteen minutes with an ice pick to get them out!"

Dean's laugh bubbled out louder and harder. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said, trying to catch his breath. "It just reminded me of the shit I used to pull on my brother when we were kids."

"Not you, too," Castiel groaned.

Dean grinned, "Don't worry, man. I haven't pulled a prank like that in years."

Castiel's body seemed to relax upon hearing Dean's statement. "It was the worst part of growing up with Gabriel. It was constantly tricks and pranks, all the time."

Dean chuckled again as they meandered back to the table Dean had occupied with Sam.

Castiel paused at the table. "You weren't on your way out, were you?"

Dean looked at him, blankly.

"I don't want to bother you if you were headed home. It's just-I saw you sitting here earlier with your...friend."

_Friend?_

Dean furrowed his brow, "Who? Sam?"

Castiel shrugged his right shoulder at the question.

A smile split Dean's face. "Tall guy? Brown mop for hair?"

The blue-eyed man nodded.

The smile on Dean's face broadened. "That was Sam. My brother."

The physical relief Castiel exuded was blatantly obvious through his now-relaxed posture.

_Who did he think Sam was?_

"You seemed to be having an argument before he left, and I didn't want to interrupt any other plans you may have," the shorter man confessed, sitting in the chair next to Dean.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. _Did he actually see my moment of gay panic?_

He leveled his gaze to the man's beside him. "Do you make it a habit very often to watch complete strangers from across the room?"

Castiel blushed again. Pink rose to his cheek, adding to the already flushed skin from the alcohol. He swiped a hand across the base of his skull. "I...uh," he babbled.

Dean smirked, turning to his almost empty beer. _What number was this? Number five?_ He suddenly became very aware of the tingling sensation in his fingers and toes.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Robert," Castiel added, sipping the last bit of his own drink.

Dean clapped a hand to the other man's shoulder. "Nah, it doesn't bother me," Dean breathed out, squeezing the flesh under his fingers.

A small, quirk of a smile ghosted across Castiel's face. Dean liked knowing he put it there. Like it was just for him.

Removing his hand from the other's shoulder, he continued observing the almost-stranger. He studied the slope of his neck, the flutter of a pulse under the tanned skin. _What would it taste like to drag my tongue across that spot?_

Dean's eyelids quivered at the idea of sucking and laving the sensitive skin of Castiel's pulse point.

Dean's daydream was interrupted when he heard what he thought was a question being asked of him.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, "Um, sorry...what?"

Castiel smiled again, compounding Dean's blush.

"I asked what brought you out tonight."

_I was desperate for a distraction from you!_ He couldn't admit that, though.

"Sam's getting married in a few weeks, and this was kinda like our last hurrah, just the two of us," Dean sighed.

Castiel supplied the green-eyed man with a look of sympathy.

Dean scoffed. "You can see how well that turned out."

"Well, his loss is my gain," Castiel commented, clinking tumbler to beer bottle together.

Dean barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess so."

A warmth spread from his belly, out. He wasn't sure if it was from the effects of the beer or something else. Something tall and blue-eyed.

At that moment, Dean's earlier waitress arrived at the table to take another order.

"Uh, I'll take another beer, and he'll have a..." Dean said, turning to the man next to him.

"Whiskey sour, please," Castiel finished, thanking the server.

After the waitress left, a lull washed over the table. Dean worked at dislodging the label from his beer bottle, again. Castiel smoothed his long fingers through the dew drops along the outside of his glass. Dean watched as the condensation dripped to the table below. If he wasn't careful, he was going to develop a hand kink.

He cleared his throat, to dispel thoughts of fingers slipping and sliding.

At the sound of Dean's gruff voice, Castiel perked up.

"So, Gabriel...he your only sibling?"

"Oh, no," Castiel answered. "I have two more older brothers and a younger sister."

"Wow, big family," Dean acknowledged with a low whistle. "What do they do?"

"Michael, the oldest, is a surgeon at Lawrence Memorial Hospital. Luke, ironically, just opened a restaurant here in town about two weeks before I did."

"Oh, yeah? Which one?" Dean's interest was definitely piqued at the mention of a restaurant.

"Oh, um...Devil's Trap. It's a sports bar across town."

"I know the one. I ate there a couple weeks ago."

"And?" Castiel quirked an eyebrow out of curiosity.

"Annnd, I'd rather eat at your place any day of the week," Dean said with total honesty.

Castiel's smile was back, and a bunch of noxious butterflies decided to take residence in his stomach. They flittered all around.

The waitress returned with their drinks as Dean watched the smile widen on Castiel's handsome face.

The older man plucked the cherry resting atop his drink, and glanced into Dean's leaf green eyes. "Fun fact...I found out many, many years ago I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with just my tongue."

Dean's breath instantly hitched. "I-I'd like to see that," he blurted out.

Castiel chuckled as he popped the cherry off the stem into his month. After chewing the fruit, he slipped the slim stalk in between his pink lips.

Dean watched as Castiel's tongue worked the stem within his mouth as his face scrunched into adorable expressions. His imagination supplied images of said tongue sliding around the head of his cock. The appendage jumped within his pants. He silently groaned as he palmed his dick through his jeans.

_I'm so screwed._

A moment later, Castiel removed the stem from his mouth, tied into a perfect knot.

_Hot damn!_

"S-so Cas," Dean stuttered. "What does your s-sister do?"

"Ah, yes," Castiel said, placing the cherry stem on his drink napkin. "We were talking about my family."

Dean nodded, trying to get his breathing and pulse to return to normal.

Castiel took a sip of his drink before starting again. "She's an artist. She lives in the Pacific Northwest painting landscapes. Very talented."

He took another swig of his drink, keeping his focus on Dean over the rim of the glass.

"What about you? Is Sam your only sibling?"

"Sam?"

Castiel nodded, waiting for Dean's reply.

"Oh, yeah, Sam! Yeah, he's my only brother."

Dean's cheeks burned with the blush the blue-eyed man was inflicting on him. Why was he so flustered?

_Oh, right. I practically saw Cas give that cherry stem a blow job!_

He shook his head of the visions of Castiel's tongue gliding through his mouth, manipulating the stem to his will.

_I wish he'd manipulate me to his will!_

Dean gulped half of his beer down, only stopping to catch his breath. "What's up with the names of your restaurants?" Dean asked a little more bluntly than he intended.

Castiel huffed a laugh. "I grew up in a very religious household. Plus, I kind of veered away from the path my parents wanted for me."

"And what was that?" Dean inquired.

"They wanted me to be a doctor, like Michael," Castiel replied casually, sipping another drink.

"I wouldn't say you 'kind of' veered away from the doctor path. You straight up fell offa it," Dean informed.

Castiel raised his hands in a revealing manner, eyebrows stretching to his hairline.

Realizing the joke, Dean laughed out loud, "I see what you did there."

He brought his beer to his mouth to drink. _I may be drunk, but this guy's a pretty funny dude._

"Oh, and that I'm gay."

Dean spluttered the beer in his mouth, trying to hold back a series of coughs. It was an unexpected tidbit.

Castiel stared at Dean, trying to assess his reaction.

"Are you okay, Robert?" he asked cautiously.

When he had his coughing under control, Dean replied, "Yeah, yeah. Beer jus' went down the wrong way."

Castiel continued to peer at the other man, watching for any signs of uneasiness.

Dean wiped his face of any beer. _Cas is gay._

"And what about Devil's Trap? What's your brother's story?" Dean asked, wiping the dribbles of beer on the table before him.

Castiel squinted at Dean, "I have no fuckin' idea."

The taller man looked at him with a curious expression. _Did I upset Cas somehow? Was it because I sidestepped his comment on him being gay?_

He was shocked at the stoic look planted on Castiel's face.

"No, seriously. I have no fuckin' clue why he named it Devil's Trap." Castiel shrugged his shoulders, smiling. "Then again, his name is Lucifer."

"Holy shit, your brother's name is Lucifer?" Dean queried, blinking in disbelief.

A small laugh bubbled up out of Castiel's chest. "Yes, it's Lucifer."

Dean checked one last time to see if Castiel was joking. He scoured those blue eyes for any trickery. When he found none, he let go of a hardy belly laugh. He gripped the side of the table to steady himself as he continued to guffaw.

Dean wiped an errant tear from the corner of his eye after several minutes. His sides ached from laughing so much. He probably shouldn't have laughed so hard, but oh, the irony.

Castiel's face was flush from joining in on Dean's contagious laughter. Dean admired the pink in his cheeks and smiled broadly. _It looks good on him._

 

 

Their conversation continued with little anecdotes about their families or upbringings for at least an hour. Dean's boisterous laugh filled the air around the two men forming a cocoon.

Without realizing it, Dean's chair had migrated closer to Castiel's, and now, their legs were pressed together from calf to knee. The warmth from Castiel's leg seeped into the pant leg of Dean's jeans. He was consciously aware of how close they were sitting to each other, but made no efforts to move away. He breathed in Castiel's scent. It was a musk underlined with cinnamon and spring rain. Spicy and clean. He inhaled deeply.

When Castiel arrived at the punchline of whatever story he was telling, Dean bumped their shoulders together as he laughed heartily.

He grabbed ahold of his newest beer by the neck of the bottle, and sighed contentedly. "Man, I haven't laugh like this in a long time," Dean said, pressing the mouth of his beer to his lips.

"I'm glad you're in a good mood," Castiel informed.

"Yeah, me too."

Dean inclined his head closer to the man's beside him. Their gazes connected, and Dean couldn't tear his away. They stayed like this, mesmerized by the other for several minutes. Dean absorbed the different shades of blue within Castiel's eyes. _So beautiful._

"Hey Cas?" Dean asked shyly.

"Yes, Robert?"

Dean winced at the alias. He needed to find a way to tell him the truth. _What happened to this being a one time coincidence?_

Dean leaned forward, cupping Castiel's jaw. "You, uh, have an eyelash."

He rubbed his thumb along Castiel's cheekbone to catch the wayward lash.

Castiel crossed his eyes to catch a glimpse of the displaced hair on Dean's thumb. He pursed his lips, and blew a soft breath across Dean's skin. The dislodged eyelash fluttered into the atmosphere of the bar.

Dean replaced his thumb on Castiel's cheek, and smoothed the skin gently.

Before he knew what was happening, Dean's eyes slammed shut, and his lips were smooshed against Castiel's. All he could take in was the softness of plump lips, scratchy five o'clock shadow, and cinnamon.

He pulled back slightly to gage Castiel's response. His eyelids were half-mast, and the smile Dean was growing to love was turning up the corners of his lips.

Dean surged forward again, and was excited to find the second kiss was reciprocated. They feverishly mashed their lips together, sliding from side to side.

Dean licked along the seam of Castiel's mouth, trying to gain access to the warmth encased within. Castiel groaned at the action, allowing his lips to part. Dean's tongue plunged inside, enveloping the soft muscle with a sweeping, tangling action.

Dean's free hand was suddenly curled in the short hairs at the back of Castiel's head, massaging the sensitive scalp. Castiel's hands clutched the front of Dean's t-shirt, pulling his body even closer.

All the while, an electric current zipped along the exposed flesh of lips and hands. Tingles surged through skin to connect with more skin. Dean whimpered at the sensation. It almost felt magical.

Dean's tongue roved deeper into Castiel's mouth, gliding over teeth and inner cheeks. He felt lightheaded from lack of air, but it was worth being able to taste whiskey sour, secondhand.

Castiel unfurled his fingers from Dean's t-shirt, and placed his palms flat against his chest. Heat radiated through the flimsy material to the skin underneath. Electrical zaps pulsed through every pore.

A moan escaped Dean's lips as he grated his teeth across Castiel's plush bottom lip.

Suddenly, mouths were disconnected as Dean was shoved away from the body in front of him. His eyes flew open to find Castiel an arm's length away. A pained expression was contorting his handsome features. His hand covered his red and swollen lips. Dean's brows knit together in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Robert," Castiel whispered, springing from his seat. "I have to go."

Dean's eyes flashed a look of hurt. He sat dumbfounded as he watched Castiel place a wad of cash on the table and gather himself to leave.

Coming to his senses, Dean grabbed ahold of the fleeing man's wrist and held steadfast. "Cas, wait! Let's talk about this!"  
The blue-eyed man pried his hand free, and gave Dean one last apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I can't."

He turned away from the table and scampered off.

Dean watched, with a heavy heart, as Castiel's form disappeared into the crowd.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter! The boys didn't want to come out to play, so I had slight writer's block. Boo!
> 
> As an apology, have some Dean and Charlie time! *sigh*

Dean awoke with a start, which he soon regretted. His head pounded like a herd of elephants was running through the space between his ears. He lifted his head from the scratchy material underneath his right cheek. Slowly, he took in his surroundings, trying not to disturb the thundering pachyderms. Realizing he was on his own couch, he gradually lowered his face back down to the cushion. He sighed in relief.

_At least I'm at home, and not some alley._

He tried, in vain, to recall memories from last night. Everything was so fuzzy after Sam had left the bar. He remembers there was talking. Maybe laughing? Just not with whom.

Dean gingerly pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, willing the drum line in his skull to stop. He slid his tongue around his mouth. Everything felt like cotton balls and tasted horrible. He vowed never to drink like that again.

Dean carefully turned over on the sage green couch to his back. His stomach sloshed slightly, but he was able to keep everything in check. Puking was not on his to-do list today.

As he tried to quell the thumping inside his brain with slow, deep breaths, the smell of greasy bacon wafted into the living room. He cautiously sat up, and placed his socked feet on the carpeted floor.  Dean became very aware of his clothing just then.  He was still wearing the same outfit from last night.  Gently bringing the t-shirt to his nose, he took a wiff.  Dean made a disgusted face at himself.  He reeked of cigarettes and cheap beer. 

The sound of a closing cupboard door brought his train of thought back to the person in the kitchen.

_Please let that be Sam. Please let that be Sam. Please let that be Sam._

Finding the will and strength to remove himself from the couch, Dean lurched into a standing position. He steadied himself, and gently ran a hand down his face. He plodded a wobbly trajectory to the kitchen's entrance, stopping at the threshold.

Facing towards the stovetop, a red head briskly pushed scrambled eggs around a frying pan.

Dean groaned internally. That was _definitely_ not Sam.

At the sound of Dean clearing his throat, Charlie jumped, and twirled away from the stove. A sly smile curled around her lips. "Good morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?"

Dean grunted in reply. Quietly chuckling to herself, Charlie turned back to the food frying in the pans. "That must have been some wild night you had. Whadaya remember?" she asked, poking at the bacon strips.

Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other before leaning against the doorframe. "Not a whole lot. I remember being out with Sam, and fighting about something..." he trailed off.

Should he admit what they were fighting about?

"...and then, him leaving. I remember talking and drinking with someone else, but that's about it. I woke up on my couch, tasting like something died in my mouth, and you, making breakfast in my kitchen."

"So, you don't remember calling me last night to pick you up and leaving a voicemail?"

Dean faintly shook his head. "No, I don't. Why?"

_This can't be good._

Charlie placed the spatula she was using down on the spoon rest beside the burners. She fished around her pants pocket, and pulled out her phone. She swiped across its face, and quickly pointed the speaker end at Dean.

"Hey Charlie. I'm...I'ma gonna need for you to pick me up from Bottleneck..."

Dean's face paled as the voicemail played.

"...I...I think...I think I'm drunk. I don't wanna hurt my Baby, even though I'm hurtin'. So, I'ma not gonna drive. The cute boy just lef' me."

There was a pause in the message. "His lips were so soft, and they tas'ed so good. Like sooooooo good." Dean's tinny giggle punctuated the still air.

He sighed on the message before starting again. "But he lef' me. Why did Cas leave me? We were kissin' and then, he was gone."

Charlie stopped the voicemail, and looked pointedly at Dean.

A wave of nausea rolled over Dean as the memories came flooding back. Blue eyes. Cherry stem. Lips on his.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuck!_

Dean clambered to the barstool a few feet away. He climbed upon it, trying to slow his increasing pulse. He remembered everything. The conversation he and Castiel shared. And the kiss. The sensual and _fucking_ sexy kiss.

Goosebumps prickled his skin at the thought of their lips locked in the embrace. He remembered the electricity coursing through his veins.

And the rejection. He remembered that, too.

Dean slumped forward, placing his elbows on the kitchen island's granite countertop. He tucked his chin into his right hand.

The room was silent while Charlie dished out the eggs, bacon, and hash browns she made for Dean and herself. She poured two mugs of coffee, and placed one in front of her friend, along with a plateful of food.

Dean stared at the meal, thoughts churning in his pain ravaged head.

"So," she said, slipping onto the barstool beside the hunched figure. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I said what happened in the voicemail. I kissed Cas. We were practically making out, and then he pushed me away and ran out," Dean answered, dejected.

"He just left?"

Dean sighed. "Without a word."

"Is he even gay? Or bi?" Charlie asked around a forkful of eggs.

"He told me last night he was gay. One of the reasons he named his restaurant Fallen."

Charlie snickered.

Dean sighed again. "I dunno what happened. We were talking, and then one thing led to another," he blushed. "It was really good. One of the best kisses I've ever had, and then he was gone."

He scooped up a slice of bacon with a huff, and bit into it angrily.

"Did you get his number?" Charlie pried.

Dean finished chewing, and took a swig of coffee. "No, I didn't," he answered quietly.

"Do you want me to hack into the phone company, and get it?"

Dean rolled his eyes before forcing hash browns into his mouth.

"You need answers, Dean!" Charlie exclaimed.

"The whole reason I went out last night was to forget about him. He stopped by the shop yesterday morning to drop off his car," Dean explained, forking more food into his mouth.

"Wait- he was at the shop?" Charlie asked, eyes brightening.

"Yeah?" Dean nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

"Perfect! That means his number is in the shop's system!"

Dean set his fork on the lip of his plate. "No, Charlie. No!"

"C'mon, Dean!" Charlie pleaded.

"I am not going to break into Bobby's computer to stalk one of his customers!"

Charlie huffed and continued eating.

"I'll just have to wait to talk to him at Fallen or something," Dean admitted, chewing another bite of bacon

Charlie hummed in agreement.

They ate together in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"It was the reason Sammy and I fought," Dean piped up.

"What was?" Charlie asked, sipping her cooled coffee.

"Bobby called him about Cas distracting me at the shop yesterday. I'm pretty sure I outed myself. Sam made a big deal about it not being deal, and I said it changes everything." Dean said, drooping on his seat.

Charlie placed a reassuring hand on his back, rubbing small circles into his t-shirt. "He's right. It only changes things if you let them. You're still Dean."

"He said that, too," Dean confessed with a laugh.

"That brother of yours is pretty smart," the red head acknowledged.

"Smartest guy I know," Dean said, filling up with pride.

Charlie let the moment pass before speaking up again. "It'll be okay, Dean."

"I know," he agreed, pulling her into a side-armed hug. He planted a kiss to the top of her head. "Thanks. For everything, kiddo."

"You better be thanking me," she quipped. "I chose you over getting laid last night!"

Dean playfully shoved her away. "Well, I'm so sorry for having an existential crisis, Your Highness!"

Charlie laughed out heartily.

"I'll try to remember not to call you the next time I question my sexuality, get sloppy drunk, and make out with the guy making me question said sexuality," Dean joked, scooping more breakfast onto his fork.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Monday morning rolled around, and Dean had mostly recovered from the hangover to end all hangovers. Charlie stuck around after breakfast, and marathoned Dr. Sexy, M.D. on Netflix for the rest of the day. The two lazed about Dean's couch, eating junk food and adding commentary to the show.

Charlie had dropped him off at the bar's parking lot at some point to pick up the Impala.  He perused the lot for any 2005 Honda Accords before slipping into Baby.  He didn't see any.

Dean's thoughts kept returning to Castiel's rejection and one unanswered question. Why? Castiel seemed to be enjoying Dean's company up until that point, so it didn't make any sense why he would hightail it out of the bar like that.

_Maybe I'm not his type._

The thought bruised Dean's already fragile ego.

It amazed him how excepting he suddenly was of his attraction to another man, and how quickly his feelings were hurt when his attraction was rebuffed.

Dean decided he wasn't going to sulk, but find out what this Castiel-guy's problem was. First, he needed to get through the workday at Lawrence World-Journal.

He entered his cubicle, and powered up the computer sitting on his desk. He had barely shrugged out of his jacket before a British accent bellowed down the hall.

"Winchester, my office. Now!"

Dean wrapped his jacket around his desk chair's back. He grumbled to himself, and made his way to Crowley's office.

He exhaled slowly before stepping inside the editor's workspace.

"What's up?" Dean called to the shorter man dressed in an all black suit.

Crowley picked up a stack of paper two pages thick when turning to face Dean, and waved it in his face. "What in the bloody hell is this?" Crowley growled.

Dean squinted to see the information typed on the first page, but couldn't, considering it was bouncing around in Crowley's hand. He reached out, and steadied his boss' arm.

"That is my review of Devil's Trap, sir." Dean confirmed.

"This swill is your review?"

Dean was slightly taken aback. Crowley had never criticized Dean's writing. He often commended his honesty in reviews. "Yes, sir."

"Take this garbage out of my office, and start over. I want a new review on my desk before you leave tonight," Crowley demanded.

Dean was utterly confused. "I don't understand. The article reflects my entire experience at Devil's Trap. The service was terrible, and the food was so-so. The only good thing about the place was it wasn't crowded," Dean defended.

"I don't care. You will rewrite the article, and have it to me before you leave, understood?"

"I am not going to lie, and mislead our readers, sir. I stand by everything I wrote in that article," Dean said, trying to reason with the editor.

"I don't care if you have to make something up. Write. A. New. Review."

Dean watched Crowley shuffle other stacks of paper around his desk. Something was fishy about this whole situation. Crowley was practically chomping at the bit for Dean's review, and now that he had it, he hated it.

Dean grabbed the article off the mahogany desk, and took one last look at his boss. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

The rest of the day went by without incident. Dean and Charlie had lunch together at a little Mexican café he reviewed a couple years back. He had a thing for their taquitos, and begged Charlie to go with him a few times a month. Being a good friend, she indulged his obsession.

They made plans to go to the movies later in the week to see the new sci-fi flick everyone was raving about.  Charlie was bouncing with excitement in her seat as they finalized the outing.

After returning to his cubicle after lunch, Dean called Sam to apologize for the way he acted at the bar, but only got his voicemail. He left a message asking Sam to call him back. He knew his brother was a busy man, but hoped Sam wasn't ignoring him.  He hadn't thrown that big of a tantrum, had he?

Dean didn't touch the article he was supposed to rewrite on Devil's Trap. He wouldn't bow to Crowley without further proof the guy wasn't up to no good. Instead, he worked on a couple of upcoming recommendation articles.  They were his favorite pieces to write.

The recommendation articles were a fun perk of the job. Dean got to go to his favorite restaurants around town, and recommend something new to try or an old classic. He secretly loved gushing about great food and restaurants that had their shit together. 

Like Fallen.  

Even if nothing happened between him and Castiel, he could see it becoming one of his favorite restaurants.  Everything he tasted Friday night was delicious. 

Unlike Devil's Trap.

That place was going to be a thorn in his side until he could convince Crowley to leave the review as is. Wishful thinking on his part.

As the workday came to an end, Dean had promised himself he would swing by Fallen on his way home.  He was anxious to clear the air with the blue-eyed man.  It was in the opposite direction of home, but he needed to talk to Castiel. He needed to get this weight lifted off his chest. He needed to know if it was something he did or if the other man was just not interested.

The answer would have to wait.

As he parked at the curb in front of the jazz club, the lights were off, and the place looked locked up tight. Dean glanced at his watch for the time: 5:37 pm. Fallen's hours were listed prominently in the window by the front entrance. The hours of operation for Monday were not displayed.

The restaurant was closed on Sundays and Mondays.

Dean hung his head as the realization swept over him. He'd have to wait one more day before talking to Castiel. His stomach tied in knots at the prospect of waiting another twenty-four hours. Maybe he'd do as Charlie suggested, and steal Castiel's number from the shop. He shook his head in defiance. If the other man had wanted him to have his number, he would have given it to Dean.

Dean merged the Impala back into the trickling traffic with a clear cut and dried solution. He would wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for everyone leaving kudos and/or comments! They mean the world to me! :D

Tuesday went by in a whirl.

Dean still hadn't spoken to his brother, but he reassured himself he would when Sam found time to call.

Charlie tried to persuade him to participate in a Mario Kart tournament between her and her co-workers downstairs, but he sadly declined. Charlie gave him a monumental pouty-face as she left his floor. He honestly wish he could ditch work, and play video games for the rest of the afternoon.

Dean got an earful from Crowley when he walked in the office that morning, wondering why he hadn't received the new copy of his review. Dean told him he hadn't written it, and secretly wasn't planning to. He said he'd get to it when he did.

Crowley's face turned red as a tomato at the news, and Dean thought, at some point, the man might be experiencing a brain aneurysm. He huffed back into his office with a growl, slamming the attached door. Dean still didn't understand the importance of this review.

He wasn't intentionally trying to jeopardize his job, but his balls felt like they were in a vice under Crowley's scrutinizing stare for the rest of the day. Every time Crowley left his office, his beady little eyes were always on Dean. It was the main reason he declined the Mario Kart tourney.

Dean actually liked his job, and would hate to be fired over something as dumb as not listening to his editor. Crowley's actions, at the present, were anything but trustworthy, though.

Maybe he could convince Crowley he was planning another visit to Devil's Trap to get him off his back for the time being. Would Sam be up for burgers and brew? He'd ask when Sam returned his call.

After saving his current work on his computer, Dean powered down the machine. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair while tidying his work space, and shuffled quietly to the entrance of his cubicle. He peered cautiously into the hallway, looking for the squat, British editor.

Noticing the door to Crowley's office was closed and no one lingering in the hall, he stealthily made his way towards the elevators.

Seconds away from pressing the down button and freedom, a gruff voice called from behind Dean. "Winchester, do you have my new review?"

Dean groaned quietly to the elevator door. _Come up with an excuse. Anything!_

He turned to face the shorter man, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Actually, sir. I was heading there tonight for dinner. I wanted to get an entirely different experience to write this new review on."

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. Dean held his breath as he watched the other man mull the information over in his head.

 _Shit, maybe that wasn't a good idea!_ Dean thought, wanting to kick himself. His blood pounded in his ears, making it difficult to hear if Crowley protested at all.

The editor nodded his head once in agreement, and his columnist discreetly exhaled.

"I want the new review by the end of the week. Is that understood?"

Dean shook his head in acquiescence.

"And Winchester? I better like what I read this time or you will have bigger things to worry about than bad service or inadequate food."

The blood pumping through Dean's veins congealed at the comment, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Y-yes, sir," he stuttered.

Crowley took a step closer to the green-eyed man. He swung his arm up, and clapped Dean on the shoulder with swift precision. "Alright, off with you," Crowley said with a smirk. "Good night."

A ding announced the arrival of the elevator, and Dean quickly slipped inside when the doors parted. He slowly pivoted in the small space to catch one last glance at the other man. His heart thrummed in his chest at the sight of Crowley's expression. He watched the gaze of his editor darkened as the elevator doors slid shut.

_What have I done?_

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

When Dean found himself outside of Fallen's front door twenty minutes later, he finally let out a big sigh. He let go of the pent up energy from work with the breath. He would deal with Crowley later. Now, he was finally going to get to ask Castiel his questions, and receive (hopefully) a resolution.

He flung the restaurant door open, and walked up to the hostess podium.

The hostess greeted him with a flirty smile. "Welcome back, Mr. Plant. Do you have a reservation tonight?"

_She remembers me?_

He flashed her a dazzling, Winchester-patented smile as his eyes roamed along her trim body.

She was dressed in a tight, white button up blouse and black skirt. She pressed her lush breasts against her side of the podium, biting her lower lip.

Any other day, that would have worked for Dean, but tonight, he was on a mission. He needed to talk to Cas.

"Actually, I'm here to see Mr. Novak. Is he in by chance?" Dean asked sweetly.

The girl's smile faltered a little, but she kept her flirty way about her. "Sure. Let me go get him," she answered with a wink.

She walked away, swaying her hips in a manner Dean couldn't ignore. He watched her disappear into a back room. She reappeared in front of Dean a few moments later with her skirt hiked up a few inches higher than when she left.

_This girl has no shame!_

The hostess stopped a few inches in front of him. "He'll be out shortly," she said, batting her lashes.

Dean stepped back from the girl, and replied with a polite, "Thank you."

He caught a whiff of her soft, floral perfume, but wished it smelled of rain and cinnamon.

 _That blue-eyed man has done somethin' to me,_ he thought.

Dean had to admit the way the hostess was trying to earn his attention was ridiculous, but it would have worked in the past; earning him a numbing conversation and a fast lay. Apparently, he was willing to work a little harder now.

Turning over a new leaf seemed to be working for him. A small smile curled over his lips at the thought.

A short man with longish sandy blonde hair and a lollipop in his mouth sauntered up to Dean. He plucked the lollipop from his mouth, let out a whistle and said, "Well, look at you."

Dean gave him a puzzled look. "I'm sorry?"

"Robert, right?"

"Yes," Dean answered in bewilderment.

The man's golden hazel eyes shone brightly. "I thought he was exaggerating, but man, can he pick 'em."

Dean gave the other man another look. He didn't enjoy being pawed at with the man's eyes like he was a slab of beef.

"I think there's been a mistake. I'm looking for Mr. Novak," Dean explained.

The shorter man pushed the lollipop back in his mouth. "I'm Mr. Novak. Gabe's the name," the man informed, shoving a hand at Dean.

It all made perfect sense now. He remembered what Castiel had mentioned about his brother. Dean took the proffered hand, and pumped it twice.

"I'm actually looking for Cas. Is he around?" Dean asked, glancing around the dining room behind Gabe's head.

The man pulled the lollipop from his mouth again.

"Nope," Gabe replied, emphasizing the "p" with a loud pop. "Cassie isn't here today."

Dean's heart sunk. He didn't know how much longer he could stand waiting to talk to Cas about Saturday night.

Gabe shook the lollipop at Dean before shoving it back in his mouth. He smirked at the green-eyed man before him.

"He told me about you. How you came in Friday night, and swept our Cassie right off his feet. He called it serendipity when he ran into you at the auto shop and the bar. That sparkle in his eye has been gone for so long." Gabe paused with a wistful look on his face. "He said it was the best kiss he'd ever had."

Dean blushed, then blushed harder when he realized the hostess was eavesdropping.

"Then, why did he walk away?" he asked curiously, trying to ignore their audience.

"He said he had gotten carried away. He knew how drunk you both were, but he didn't want to take advantage of you," Gabe replied, swirling the lollipop in his mouth.

"Take advantage of me?" Dean questioned, confused again.

"He overheard you at the auto shop talking about strippers for a bachelor party."

Dean winced at the words, and his eyes slipped closed. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in frustration.  Dean always knew strippers would come back to bite him in the ass one way or another.

Gabe continued, "He assumed you were batting for Team Hetero, and the alcohol played a major component in the kiss. But, as you stand before me, I can tell he got it all wrong."

Gabe grinned at his discovery, looking Dean up and down from head to toe again.

Dean squirmed under Gabe's examination.

_Is this what it feels like when someone undresses you with their eyes?_

"So, where can I find him?" Dean queried, bringing the other man's focus back to the matter at hand.

"Shit, I dunno," Gabe whined. "I don't keep tabs on him twenty-four seven."

Dean rolled his eyes at the shorter man. "Will he be in tomorrow?"

Gabe shrugged his shoulders.

"How do you own a restaurant and not work at it?" Dean mumbled to himself, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out an old business card from Singer Auto.

"Can you give this to him when you see him? Tell him to call my cell. I'd really like to clear this up face to face," Dean asked, handing the other man the business card.

Gabe carelessly threw his lollipop stick toward a garbage can near the hostess podium before taking the card. "Sure thing, bucko."

The man standing before him was one big enigma. Dean could see where Castiel's frustration stemmed from. He opened his mouth to say something else, but chose to give the sandy-haired man one last puzzling look instead. Swiveling on his heel, Dean exited out the door without a glimpse behind him.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean couldn't believe his luck. Of all the times he _actually_ wanted to talk about his feelings with another person, he couldn't. He was stuck one more day without definitive answers. He knew what he heard Gabe say, but he wouldn't believe it until he got it from the source- Castiel himself. At this rate, that wouldn't be until next week. The whole situation with Castiel was getting more frustrating by the day. Dean slumped further down into the driver's seat of the Impala.

Caught in his daydream of talking to Castiel, he drove on auto pilot to Devil's Trap. Pulling into a parking spot, Dean cursed himself for driving so recklessly. He knew he had bigger issues on his plate, but he never put Baby in harm's way. No matter what.

Dean forced the squeaky driver's door open, and climbed out of the black beauty of a car. He approached the bar's entrance with reluctance, but knew it was like ripping off a Band-Aid. He knew he needed to get it over with quick. It didn't help he was already predisposed to not like the place after his first visit. He was willing to give Devil's Trap another try, though, if it meant keeping his job.

Crowley hadn't technically threatened him with a firing, but he knew it would come to that if he didn't follow through with a new review.

As Dean walked in the double doors, the smell of onion rings assaulted his olfactory system. He scrunched his nose at the odor. He enjoyed onion rings immensely, but these just smelled- off.

A greeter met him at the front of the restaurant, and guided him to his table. Dean looked around after sitting down. There was a more considerable amount of people tonight than a few weeks ago. He soon noticed a Royals game being broadcast on several big screen TVs.

_Ahhh, game night._

He perused the laminated menu until a young man crept up alongside his table. The young man pulled out a pen and pad of paper from his half-apron.

"My name's Andy. I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?"

Dean looked up from the menu, and saw an exhausted face staring back at him. He glanced back at the menu before deciding.

"I'll have a pint of the Happy Hour Special on draft, please," Dean replied with a soft smile.

"Can I get any appetizers started for you as well? Mozzarella sticks? Jalapeño poppers?" Andy questioned.

"I wouldn't recommend either," came a voice from Andy's left.

Both men glimpsed in the direction of the speaker. Andy took in the man wearing a red argyle tie, loosely tightened around his neck. He wore a sateen charcoal gray dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, under a black waistcoat. Coordinated pin-striped trim fit slacks adorn his legs. A tan trenchcoat was draped over his left arm.

All Dean saw was sapphire blue, though. Beautiful sapphire blue.  It was turning into his new favorite color.

A smile slowly inched across the man's stubbled face at Dean's reaction. "Hello, Robert."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two words: I suck. :( 
> 
> I am sooooooooooooooo sorry for taking forever to finally get this posted. Please accept my humble apology, and enjoy the Dean and Cas yumminess. :)

The butterflies trapped within Dean's stomach fluttered in response to the smile he was currently receiving. The same smile he'd missed over the last three days.

"Hey, Cas," Dean practically sighed. He couldn't help the heart-eyes.

Castiel was actually standing right in front of him!

Dean pushed a vacant chair at his table out with his foot. Gesturing to the empty seat, Dean followed Castiel's movements as he lowered himself into the wooden chair.

Folding his legs under the table, Castiel placed the trenchcoat cloaked over his arm gently into his lap. He smoothed a hand over his chest, flattening his tie and tugging his waistcoat straight.

Dean sat in rapt attention, taking in the man seated next to him. So much bubbled at the surface, but all he could do at the moment was stare.

Castiel's gaze raised from his own body, shyly seeking out Dean's green eyes. When the two connected, a smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

Andy cleared his throat, displacing the weird atmosphere surrounding their table. A soft, pink blush stained Dean's cheeks. He had clearly forgotten about the other man.

_How long was I staring at Cas?_

"Would you like anything to drink as well, Mr. Novak?" Andy asked, fidgeting slightly.

Dean eyes widened in disbelief at the formal greeting. Castiel glanced up at the waiter, "I'll have whatever he's having."

Scribbling down on his notepad, Andy mumbled, "Coming right up."

Watching the waiter scurry off, a wave of realization washed over the journalist. "Man, I forgot your brother owns the place."

Castiel chuckled breezily. "Well, my reputation does proceed me."

Dean wouldn't be surprised if the success of Fallen in this short amount of time had turned Castiel into somewhat of a celebrity.

As Dean pondered Castiel's celebrity status, a swath of pink peeked out from the blue-eyed man's mouth, wetting his lips. Dean caught sight of the motion, and his breath hitched. Memories danced in his head of that tongue tangled alongside his own.

He silently cursed the server for taking so long with his beer. Dean desperately needed a distraction before he swallowed his own tongue. His gaze flew to the tabletop as he shifted uncomfortably. He willed whatever blood journeying south to halt in his veins.

As if Dean's prayers were suddenly answered, Andy appeared next to the two men with a tray of frothy pint glasses. He carefully set a beer down in front of each man. Tucking the tray under his arm, Andy pulled his notepad from his apron. "Did you decide on something to eat?"

Taking another look at his menu, Dean nodded. "I'll have the Devil's Trap house burger with cheese, hold the onion, please."

He loved onion on his burgers. Hell, if he was by himself or anyone else, he would have asked for extra onion. This time, though, he didn't want the noxious scent lingering on his breath. Not that he presumed he'd be making out with Castiel. He wanted to be courteous, if anything.

 _Yeah, I'm going with that,_ Dean thought.

"And for you, Mr. Novak?"

"I'll just stick with the beer for now. Thank you," Castiel answered the fidgety man.

"Okay. I'll get this order in right away."

Andy looked from Castiel to Dean and back again before quickly darting away.

Dean's eyes chased after the retreating man's back. He had thought the weird behavior from Andy was due to waiting on his boss' brother, but after that last look, Dean wasn't so sure.

He turned to find a cocked eyebrow and a quizzical look on Castiel's face. Dean wondered if he hadn't noticed the strange behavior from the other man. He quickly decided it was nothing, and steered the conversation toward himself.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for the last couple of days."

Castiel's eyebrow quirked even higher. "You have?"

"Yeah," Dean said before taking a draft of his beer. "I was curious about your disappearing act on Saturday."

Dean watched Castiel's eyes dart to the tabletop and his fingers reach for the corner of his drink napkin. Now was Castiel's turn to blush.

"But, I stopped by Fallen earlier, and had a nice chat with Gabe," Dean relinquished.

Blue eyes flew to meet green, wide with puzzlement.

"You didn't?" Castiel questioned.

"I did," Dean answered, taking another sip from his glass. "He was very informative."

The chest of the man in front of him rose and fell in fast, shallow breaths. Was he going to hyperventilate? Dean watched further as Castiel tried to form words, but his mouth gaped open and closed.

"Wh-wha, what did he say?" Castiel's mouth finally articulated.

"He said something about serendipity and taking advantage," Dean supplied, observing a look on the other man's face which looked close to tears.

"I'm gonna kill him," Castiel mumbled just above a whisper.

"He was only being a helpful big brother," Dean informed.

Castiel startled at the comment, wondering if Dean had super-hearing. "I apologize for anything Gabriel may have said or did in my stead."

Dean chuckled. "He wasn't so bad. I can see where he'd get annoying living with him or being related to him."

Castiel smiled softly at the rib toward his brother. He lifted his pint glass from the dampened napkin, fingers gliding through the condensation. He brought the beer to his lips, never taking his eyes off Dean.

Dean averted his own eyes away from the blue-eyed scrutiny.

"Why didn't you just ask me instead of presuming anything you thought you overheard?" Dean inquired.

Castiel's cheeks flushed again. He replaced his beer back to the table, and stuffed his hands in his lap. He fumbled with an exposed button on his coat, acting as if it were the most fascinating thing at the moment.

Castiel exhaled loudly. "I didn't want you-," he started. His eyes rose to the freckle-faced man before him, and dove back to his occupied hands.

"You didn't what, Cas?" Dean urged.

Castiel heaved another breath. "Gabriel was right in saying I felt like I was taking advantage of you. I'm very attracted you, Robert. I know I only caught part of the bachelor party story, but when you kissed me at the bar, it felt really nice but wrong. I couldn't stop picturing your fiancée at home, heartbroken. I'm sor-."

Dean threw a hand up to stop Castiel's progression of words. "Wait, what?! You think I have a fiancée?"

"Of course, Robert. You are getting married and planning a bachelor party."

Dean stared at Castiel in disbelief as everything he had just heard sunk in. He swiftly slapped the tabletop, and broke out into uproarious laughter.

Castiel sat back in confusion, peering around the restaurant at the other patrons. "What's...what's so funny, Robert?" he asked, thinking back on what he had previously said to cause such a reaction.

Dean tried to catch his breath as he wiped the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He pawed at his beer before taking a sip and letting out one last chuckle. "Thank you for that," Dean stated, resting his glass with a thunk.

Castiel narrowed his eyes as his brow furrowed. "I still don't understand."

Just as Dean opened his mouth to explain his outburst, Andy returned with Dean's burger. The plate was slipped in front of the green-eyed man gingerly. Dean glanced up at the server with gratitude.

"Anything else I can get you?" the twitchy man asked of the seated pair.

"Another round would be great," Dean said as Castiel drained a healthy gulp from his glass.

Dean quirked a smile at the dapperly dressed man across from him. His eyes followed the flow of motion as the nearly empty beer met the table. He thought about Castiel's accusation and his "upcoming nuptials." Another laugh bubbled to the surface.

"Please, Robert. What is so funny?"

"You," Dean responded.

Castiel was taken aback for a spilt second. "Me?"

"I'm not getting married. My brother is. It was _his_ bachelor party I was talking about to Bobby," Dean informed.

Castiel suddenly looked and felt very sheepish. He muttered a soft, "Oh."

"When I kissed you at the bar, it was because I wanted to," Dean replied.

"We were both very intoxicated. We weren't in the right capacity to be making such decisions," Castiel rebutted.

Dean pondered Castiel's argument. The guy had a point. Dean hadn't actually realized he might be attracted to men until several hours before the kiss. Would he have acted without the help of alcohol?

"I had just come into some new information about myself earlier in the evening. The buzz was a confidence booster," Dean countered.

Castiel cocked an eyebrow. "What information?"

_Oh, shit! What do I say?_

"Um, I..." he floundered. "It's not important right now."

The restauranteur eyed him suspiciously.

"Hey. Later," Dean promised. He slid his hand across the table, and curled a couple of his fingers around Castiel's.

When their skin met, the electric zing he'd felt before raced across Dean's skin. His heart fluttered at the sensation as sparks bounced from one nerve-ending to another. If this happened every time their hands touched, what would it be like to be naked against each other? An excited shiver danced across Dean's spine at the thought.

The expression on Castiel's face let Dean know he wasn't alone in the feeling. He tightened his hold on the slender fingers in his grasp.

As the sensation ebbed, a throat clearing sounded next to their table. Dean's head shot up at the noise, retracting his hand from Castiel's grip just as quickly. Castiel side-eyed his action.

_Did Andy see us holding hands?_

The server set the full pints down next to the nearly empty companions.

"How is your burger, sir?"

Dean's heart thrashed around his chest at the implication of being caught holding another man's hand. He wasn't ready for this! What was he thinking?

Dean took in the bewildered look on Castiel's face. "Robert?"

Dean's eyes slid up to Andy and back to Castiel. His breath came in short pants.

"I'm sorry," he said to no one in particular. "I just remembered something I need to do before it gets too late."

Dean pushed his chair back from the table and stood abruptly. He yanked his wallet out of his back pocket, and threw several bills down for the meal. He didn't bother offering Castiel an explanation before turning to the exit. He could hear both men calling after him as he was flooded in darkness.

Dean's pulse thundered as he ran through the parking lot to the Impala. It blocked all outside noise from reaching his ears. Not that it mattered. He was so consumed with the fear of anyone other than Sam or Charlie or even Cas finding out his little secret. There was no way he could do this! How did Cas do it?

_Oh, shit! Cas! I did exactly what he did to me at the bar!_

Realization slammed into him like a Mack truck.

Reaching for the Impala, Dean guided his arms to the roof of the black car and cradled his head in them. He tried to slow his breathing down, but every technique he used didn't work. He was on the brink of a serious panic attack. In the parking lot of Devil's Trap.

Wrapped up in his personal crisis, Dean never heard the crunch of gravel nearby. He did feel the gentle hand run across his back, though. And it nearly scared the piss out of him. He whipped around to face the unknown assailant, only to stare into the bluest and saddest eyes he'd ever seen. His body slumped against the side of his car. What was he going to say to Cas? How was he going to explain away his freak out?

His breath finally stilled when he heard the low rumble of Castiel's voice.

"Is this Baby?"

It wasn't the question Dean had been expecting. He blinked at the other man several times before his brain came back online. He huffed a small appreciative laugh. "Yeah, it is."

Dean watched as Castiel walked around the black machine, examining her.

"She's beautiful. I can see you take great pride in her," Castiel remarked, smiling Dean's favorite smile.

Dean knew it was coming. He could tell it was on the tip of Castiel's tongue as he walked back to stand in front of him. He wrung his hands in discomfort, waiting for the third degree.

And it finally came.

"Would you care to explain what happened in there?" Castiel asked softly, shuffling an inch closer to the man leaning against the car.

Dean sighed loudly. "I...I was..." he stammered.

Castiel crept forward another inch. "You were...?"

"It's hard to explain," Dean spat out.

"Try me," Castiel pried.

Dean eyeballed the man in the red argyle tie and black waistcoat. Why did he care so much?

Without realizing it, Castiel was toe to toe with Dean. Black dress shoes nudged at beat up boots. Dean turned his head to the side, and blew out a calming breath. Turning back, he found imploring blue eyes on him.

"I was scared," Dean whispered.

"Of what?" Castiel asked, placing a hand on Dean's right arm.

He stilled at the gesture. Relishing the warm touch seeping into his skin through his sleeve.

"Of the waiter- seeing what we were doing." He sounded so childish. He had done far worse with the man fours days ago. But this? This freaked him out more?

Castiel must have had the same line of thought. "You do realize you had your tongue shoved down my throat a few days ago, right?"

"I didn't have my tongue sh-" Dean was silenced with another cocked eyebrow. "Shuddup."

Castiel laughed at his petulance. The hand on Dean's bicep slid down his arm and intertwined their fingers together. Dean balked at the motion, but relaxed when he remembered they were in a dark parking lot.

"This is all so new to me. I didn't even know I liked guys until four days ago."

Castiel's eyes expanded even bigger at the new information. "Was this the new information you were talking about earlier?"

Dean nodded.

"But you," Dean continued. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met."

The waistcoated man ambled his body next to Dean's as he talked, straddling his legs.

"I'm scared of these feelings because I don't _do_ feelings."

Castiel maneuvered even closer, pressing his body to Dean's from thighs to chest. He cupped the food critic's jaw, twining his fingers into the short hairs of Dean's head.

"You make it all seem so simple. You make me feel at ease whenever I'm near you. And, I don't want it to stop."

Their lips were a hair's breadth away now, breath puffed against each other's cheeks.

"Kiss me, Robert," Castiel murmured, wetting his lips.

Dean stalled at the command. Didn't he just run out of a restaurant because he was embarrassed of a little hand holding? Could he kiss this man again?

"Please, Robert," Castiel practically begged. "You have no idea how much I regretted running out on you. Or not giving you my number. I haven't stopped thinking about you, either."

Dean hesitated. "Was it really the best kiss you'd ever had?" he asked, pressing closer.

Castiel's eyes slipped shut before whispering, "Yes."

Dean softly pressed his lips to the plush pair before him. Castiel let out a muffled moan at the action. Dean's blood zinged through his veins as the kiss deepened. Sensitive pink skin rubbed together, a tongue seeking entrance. Access was granted with a quiet groan, and soon two tongues slipped together. They plunged into the warm heat of the other's mouth, sliding against teeth and inner cheek. Hands grabbed at anything, just trying to gain purchase. Fingers knotted in hair, tugging gently. Stubbled chins scraped together as lips ventured down throats to jawlines to earlobes.

Dean brought his knee toward Castiel, feeling the hardness under his slacks growing. The shorter man ground against Dean's thigh, seeking friction. Pants of breath filled the night air as Dean returned to kissing Castiel's lips. At the moment, all he wanted to do was make this other man feel good. It didn't matter how; it needed to happen right then and there.

Dean encircled Castiel's back with his arms, pulling him as close as possible. The thin fabric of Castiel's slacks left nothing to the imagination, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath as their clothed cocks slotted together at their close proximity. Dean's hand snaked up Castiel's neck and back into his messy hair as they slowly rutted against each other.

He was surprised to find the ministrations of his lips stopped when Castiel pulled away.

 _Not again,_ Dean thought.

Instead, he caught the slight glimmer of lust in heavily-lidded eyes.

"Is the backseat of Baby very comfortable?" Castiel breathed loudly.

Dean knew he should be panicking. Was he ready to take this step, especially in the backseat of his car in a crappy restaurant's parking lot? Several emotions swirled around his head. 

_I need to stop this, right?_

To his own surprise, he replied, "Let's find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheer is officially over, and I can resume a semi-normal life again! *does her best Snoopy dance*
> 
> Thank you to everyone sticking with this through my hiatus. Means a lot! You are the best!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean yanked the back door of the Impala open while still slotted between Castiel's thighs. He brought his lips up for another bruising kiss while trying to move their two bodies into the car without bringing any harm to their persons.

He sat down on the edge of the leathered backseat while Castiel hunched over him, hands grappling for shirt fronts. Dean slid along the length of the bench seat, breaking the kiss as the other man climbed in as he avoided knocking his head against the car's frame. Castiel scrambled to close the door behind them.

Dean gingerly lowered his body down on the padded seat, staring up at the beautiful man above him. Overhead parking lot lights were just starting to pop on as the night approached. The artificial light filtered in through the car's windows, casting shadows and illuminating strips of tanned skin along Castiel's face. He took a moment to catch his breath and just observe Castiel. The restaurant owner was nearly as out of breath as himself, panting hot puffs down on his face and neck. Dean was content for the moment to just stare, and take in high cheekbones and cerulean eyes.

Dean smiled at the giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Castiel nudged his cheek with the tip of his nose, bringing his mouth to just beside Dean's ear. "What are you smiling at?" he whispered.

Dean's smile broadened. "Nothin'."

Castiel lowered his body down on top of Dean's, pressing their mouths together again. Hands roamed across shoulders and into hair as tongues tangled in a familiar dance. They moved and circled together, exchanging hot breaths in the millimeters separating their faces.

Dean sucked in gulps of air as Castiel littered open-mouth kisses down his whisker-sprinkled jawline to his neck. Dean arched his torso into the other man's as Castiel nipped and sucked at the tender skin of his throat. A dark, red mark bloomed across his pulse point. His eyes fluttered open, not realizing they had closed.

Castiel laved across the expanse of his neck, forcing his chin to jut toward the Impala's rooftop, allowing more surface to be claimed. His eyes slipped shut again as hums of appreciation tickled the smooth skin above his collar.

His body squirmed under the weight above it. There was an itch under his skin that definitely needed to be scratched, but he didn't know how. His hand drifted over the curve of Castiel's ass, kneading the firm muscle, and settling at his lower back. He compressed their bodies closer; trying to relieve the itch igniting beneath his skin.

Castiel unlaced his fingers from the light brown strands atop Dean's head, and smoothed his hand down the younger man's chest. It found a resting place at the bulge in Dean's jeans. He gently applied pressure to the hardened length, massaging a moan out of the green-eyed man below him.

"Is this...is this okay?" the dark-haired man asked between labored breaths, slowly stroking Dean.

It took a moment for Dean to pull back from the moment, to ignore the incredible feeling radiating through his groin.

"Yeah, Cas. Feels good," Dean answered, breathless.

After receiving the positive affirmation, Castiel lifted the hem of Dean's t-shirt up with his other hand, exposing the soft pudge of his belly. He sunk down to the floorboard on his knees. He peppered chaste kisses to the soft skin along the waistband of Dean's pants while continuing the attention he was administering between his legs.

Dean's back bowed from the sensation of Castiel's lithe fingers. Another moan tumbled from his lips as his clothed erection was cupped. His pulse pounded within his veins; a flush swept across his flesh. He almost missed the swift unbuttoning of his jeans and the drag of his zipper, preoccupied with the hand thumbing meticulously along his cock. The denim material was tugged just below Dean's ass in one fell swoop. Castiel bent lower, mouthing the outline of his hard dick with kiss-swollen lips. The continuous slow pull around his length was tortuous, drawing grunts and moans from the journalist.

"Oh...god," Dean groaned, his body chasing after Castiel's hand on the upstroke.

"If...if it gets to be too much...I'll stop," Castiel mumbled against the dark cotton.

"Don't...don't stop."

With the encouragement, Castiel hooked his fingers into the waistband of the black boxer briefs, sliding them down Dean's body enough to reveal the weeping shaft hidden underneath. He nosed at the wiry curls at the base, inhaling Dean's musky scent. Flattening his tongue, Castiel licked from root to tip, taking extra care to pad along the vein on the underside of Dean's cock. He softly suckled at the head, extracting mewls from the man under him.

Dean twined his fingers through the messy, dark hair bobbing around his waist. Images of a not-so-distant fantasy flashed around in his head. Thoughts of Castiel between his legs, sucking him down spurred the quickening of his heartbeat. He was pretty sure this was how he would die, and he was surprisingly okay with it.

_Coming and going wouldn't be so bad, right?_

He tightened his grip on Castiel's mop of hair as the man swirled his tongue around his sensitive head, swiping precome from the slit. "Fuck, Cas," he breathed harshly.

Castiel rose up onto the bench seat, hovering over Dean's prone body. As he bent down to nibble at reddened and swollen lips, his hand moved to his belt. Metal fasteners clang against each other as the man struggled to unbuckle his pants one-handed.

"Here. Let me help," Dean panted against the shorter man's mouth.

Dean managed to undo Castiel's belt and slacks while being stroked in an erratic pattern. Slow and sensual one moment, fast and jerky the next. It definitely kept him guessing.

Dean shoved slacks and underwear down enough to expose Castiel's purpling cock to the stagnant air of the Impala. He reached for the dribbling appendage, brushing calloused fingers along the length. He stroked in a slow, steadying rhythm, watching Castiel's face in the fading sunlight. Sapphire eyes screwed shut at one point as a low rumble rolled from his chest.

Castiel grabbed ahold of the back of Dean's neck, sweat dripping onto his fingertips. He pulled him into a sitting position, rearranging his own body to straddle over denim-clad thighs.

Pulling each other as close as possible, they both smashed their lips together in a frantic move to be even closer. They attempted to kiss with a lack of oxygen, but eventually, had to pull away.

Dean leaned his forehead against Castiel's as he battled to catch his breath. His skin felt like it was on fire from the pleasure coursing through his veins. If this is what he'd been missing out on all these years, he never wanted to stop.

After a moment's pause, Castiel guided Dean's hand from his member, and wrapped his long, slender fingers around both their cocks. A sharp moan was punched out of Dean as their skin collided. A strong fist curled into the shoulder of the restaurant owner's shirt and waistcoat.

"The moment I saw you," Castiel heaved breathlessly as he stroked, "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Dean writhed under the other man's actions, throwing his head back as a cloak of ecstasy wrapped around his form. "Yeah, just like that."

"You're so damn beautiful," Castiel continued. "I knew...ahh...there was...fuck...something special...about you."

Dean stared into those dark blue eyes as Castiel carried on with his spiel. All he saw was honesty behind fluttering, long lashes. His hips gyrated as he slowly started to fuck into Castiel's hand. The pressure was building, and he knew it wouldn't be long.

Castiel gathered the beading liquid at their tips, and smoothed it over their shafts, lubricating his movements. The slip-slide of his fingers delivered a burst of euphoria through his limbs.

"I wanted...oh, Robert...to know...what you tasted like...what you felt like...under...yes...my hands."

Dean was practically bucking into the firm grip around him, bumping into the fleshy shaft of the man perched above him. The words falling on his eardrum accentuated the way his body responded to every movement those fingers produced. "I'm close, Cas."

"You're so magnetic...you drew me in," Castiel huffed. "You ensnared me...I don't think...I...oh, shit...I can...escape."

One, two strokes, and Dean spilled warm, white spunk over Castiel's hand and dick. The hand holding them together whipped up and down in a frenzy. It was almost too much for Dean, as sensitive as he was now, but he endured.

"C'mon, baby. Come for me," Dean encouraged, watching Castiel teeter on the edge.

Seconds later, Castiel added his own release to the mix, coating his hand further with stringy globs of fluid. He moaned half-obscenities in Dean's ear, and shuttered at the overstimulation.

They slumped together in the aftermath, chests rising and falling with rushed breaths. Dean cupped Castiel's face, sliding his fingers into sweaty strands. He drew his mouth to his own lips, and kissed him tenderly. Muffled soft whimpers slipped from puffy lips. Dean smirked at the sounds.

"That was...wow," he said still slightly breathless.

All Castiel could manage was a fumbled head nod. A blissed-out look shrouded his handsome face as he strained for words.

Dean wrapped his big hands around Castiel's cheeks again, and forced them to look eye-to-eye. "Hey, you don't need to say anything, okay?"

Castiel nodded again. His gaze floated down to their laps, where their softening lengths were nestled.

 _Was he embarrassed?_ Dean wondered. Was Dean actually the level-headed one at the moment?

"Look at me, Cas." Dean tried, in vain, to connect their lines of sight again.

Reluctantly, Castiel glanced up into clear, green eyes.

"What is this all about, man?" Dean inquired.

Castiel sighed, "I tend to overshare in the heat of the moment. I know we don't know each other that well, but everything I said was true."

Dean chuckled. Castiel narrowed his eyes in agitation.

"I liked it," Dean admitted, grinning as the abashment drained from the older man's face. "It helped me, y'know, get there."

Castiel's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh. Oh, okay."

Dean smirked again, "Yeah."

Castiel shifted his weight over Dean's legs slightly, and everything came back into sharp focus again. He had just come by the hand of another man, and there was no fire and brimstone. No one ready to stone him. No one to drag him away for eternal damnation.

Instead, there was only a gorgeous man in his lap. A gorgeous man wearing a waistcoat that stirred things inside of him. Sammy may have said being bi didn't change him, but it actually had. He finally realized the person he was supposed to be, and he was ready to embrace it.

The realization forced a bigger smile across his face. He leaned forward, and pressed the sweetest kiss to Castiel's lips. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Dean shucked his overshirt from his body, and gently swiped at Castiel's hand. He wiped the cooling ejaculate carefully, trying not to make a bigger mess than necessary. As he was finishing with his clean-up job, the sensation of being watched prickled his skin. Dean glanced up to find Cas watching his careful movements. A look of guilt and concern was back.

"What?"

"I just-," Castiel sighed. "What we did...I hope I didn't pressure you in any way."

Dean huffed a laughed. He studied Castiel's worry-filled blue eyes for a brief second before brushing his thumb across a blush stained cheek. "It was very consensual, Cas."

He slumped in relief. "Okay."

"Besides, even if it wasn't," Dean grinned, "I'm pretty sure I coulda gotten you to stop."

Castiel quirked an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"Yeah, pretty sure."

Before Dean realized what was happening, Castiel lunged at him, flattening his body against the car's leather upholstery. His hands were pinned above his head, wrists gripped within warm vises. Dean struggled to escape the other man's hold.

"Holy shit," Dean panted. "You're a lot stronger than you look."

Castiel straddled Dean's waist, holding him down with ease. He bent forward, his mouth beside Dean's ear. "Looks can be deceiving," his voice rumbled.

The words puffed against the skin of Dean's throat, causing the flesh to rise with goosebumps. He welcomed the sensation. Although, he had come only moments ago, Dean's naked cock gave an interested twitch. He mewled as his earlobe was dragged into the warm heat of Castiel's mouth.

"You tryin' to kill me?" Dean asked, clutching at Castiel's shirt sleeve.

"Why would I do that?" the older man questioned between quick licks. "You'd be no fun to me dead."

Dean moaned. "Unless you're into necrophilia."

Castiel chuckled against Dean's neck. "No, I like my partners very much alive. And I intend to keep you that way."

"I'm not eighteen anymore," Dean practically whined under the ministrations of Castiel's lips along his jawline. "It's gonna take some time to reboot the ol' system."

"I don't have anywhere to be. Do you?"

Dean pulled the shorter man away from the column of his throat, and surged up, finding his lips with his own.

After several moments of languid kissses, the two men separated breathless.

"Nah, Cas," Dean whispered. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and all the kudos! They mean so much to me! Keep 'em coming! <3
> 
> This is still unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean was driving away from Devil's Trap on an empty stomach. He would go hungry for a week if it meant he could experience the last forty-three minutes again. He was leaving the parking lot with the Impala's heater on defrost to de-fog her windows, Castiel's number finally in his phone, and a few unexpected hickies along his collarbone and across his chest. He was completely sated and buzzing from the time spent with Castiel.

Words couldn't describe the feelings swirling around inside him. His dopamine and oxytocin levels were probably through the roof, leading to the feeling of elation and walking on air. It was almost as if he were on Cloud Nine. Was it posssible after four days?

 _No_ , Dean chided himself. _It's just from the two really awesome orgasms._

The slow make-out session turned to heavy petting, which lead to more.

Dean surprised Castiel and himself by offering up a blowjob. It was sloppy and unskilled, but he sucked and stroked with gusto. Castiel wasn't complaining, though, as he shouted Dean's "name" through his second orgasm of the night, spilling seed over his hand.

Emboldened by his earlier confidence, Dean peeked his tongue out of his mouth, and into the mess on his hand. Castiel's jizz was salty and a little bitter. It wasn't terrible, but it would take practice to swallow down a whole load without any dribbling down his chin.

Castiel, on the other hand, was a bj pro. Dean got a small taste of his skills the first time around, but he put any girls Dean had ever been with to shame the second time. He took Dean down his throat with such ease; it looked almost effortless. And when Dean announced he was going to come, Castiel didn't budge. He swallowed everything with a hum of appreciation.

A pang of jealousy burrowed into the pit of Dean's stomach at the thought of how Castiel got so good at blowjobs. He knew he had no right to feel that way, but he couldn't help but think of the faceless others who came before him. He should be grateful, but the tinge of envy burned deep within him.

_Have you not seen the man?! He's fucking gorgeous! Of course men are throwing themselves at him. You did._

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face at the thought.

 _Way to kill a good buzz_ , he scolded himself.

He was still kicking himself as he pulled into the Chipotle parking lot on West Sixth Street. He grumbled as he exited his car; he scowled as he waited in line to order, dragging his feet. He had no one to blame but himself for his foul mood. Dean should move passed the fact that Castiel was skilled in the art of fellatio, and be thankful Castiel had experience in the department at all.

Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket when he was one person away from ordering. He yanked it out, figuring it was Charlie or even Sam. A quick glance at the screen provided the answer. It was neither.

 

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:24 p.m.**  
_It was good seeing you tonight, Robert. I had an enjoyable time. :)_

 

Dean winced at the use of his alias. He really needed to tell Castiel the truth if they were going to be...involved. He couldn't help the smile forming across his face, though. He'd all but forgotten he was even in a bad mood. He had had a good time, too.

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:25 p.m.**  
_Me too. I really needed that. Work has been crazy._

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:25 p.m.**  
_At the garage? I didn't realize it was a stressful job._

 

 _Shit_! Dean wasn't even thinking about the garage. He was thinking of the fact he'd skipped out on his second attempt at food at Devil's Trap and Crowley was probably going to kill him.

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:26 p.m.**  
_Yeah. Some days are better than others._

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:26 p.m.**  
_Are you free for dinner Thursday? My treat to help you de-stress._

 

Dean grinned brightly. Was Castiel asking him on a date?

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:27 p.m.**  
_Like a date?_

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:27 p.m.**  
_Yes. Like a date._

 

Dean's smile grew even wider at the admission of Castiel's intentions. He'd never been asked out before, and he blushed at the thought of being pursued. He actually loved the thought of it.

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:28 p.m.**  
_Sounds good._

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:28 p.m.**  
_Any suggestions on where you would like to go?_

 

It took Dean only a second to think of where he wanted to go. He did have his piece for _Not Your Mama's Cookin'_ he needed to write, after all.

_It's like killing two birds with one stone._

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:29 p.m.**  
_How about Ladybird Diner on Massachusetts?_

 

"Sir?"

Dean whipped his head up from his phone to find the girl at the tortilla warmer staring at him blankly. He noticed the person in front of him in line was nearly to the register. He had seriously zoned out while texting Cas?

"Uh, sorry. Work stuff," Dean lied, shaking his phone as an apology.

The girl behind the counter rolled her eyes in response. "What can I get you?"

Dean relayed his order to the blonde in a saccharin-sweet tone. If there was one thing he learned in his job as a food critic, it was: don't piss off the people preparing your food. It led to nothing but trouble.

As he slid down to choose his salsa, his phone announced an incoming text. Dean briefly glanced at his screen to see it was from Castiel.

 

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:31 p.m.**  
_I thought they were closed from the fire at Biggs on Mass?_

 

He quickly returned his gaze to a petite brunette as she narrowed her eyes. Had he really held the line up that long to provoke such hostility?

He politely recited the rest of his burrito fillings with a smile and wink. He could practically see the unfriendly scrutiny melt from the girl's features and a blush sweep up her face. Her lips spread into a small smile as she scooped a spoonful of guacamole onto the burrito.

As he exited the eatery after paying for his meal, Dean pulled out his phone. He sent off a reply as he unlocked the driver side door.

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:35 p.m.**  
_They got all the repairs done, and reopened last week._

 

Dean slid into the front seat behind the steering wheel. He paused for a moment before placing the key in the ignition. Butterflies fluttered in his gut as he inhaled softly. The interior of his beloved car smelled of something other than sun-warmed leather. Something musky.

It smelled like _sex_.

His cheeks warmed at the thought of what he and the blue-eyed man got up to in the backseat. Only he and Castiel knew, but the tell-tale sign of sweat and come wafted through the air of the Impala. It was a nice secret to have. It made him giddy, and reminded him of the way he felt when he loss his virginity to Sydney Franklin junior year.

A text alert sounded, and broke him from his reverie. Dean looked down at his phone, still clutched in his hand.

 

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:36 p.m.**  
_That sounds wonderful. Do you want to meet there?_

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:36 p.m.**  
_Will you be at home? I could pick you up?_

 

Dean's heart pounded in his chest waiting for Castiel's reply. Was he coming off clingy for asking to pick him up? Was Cas hoping for a quick getaway if the date went to shit?

 _Fuck! Why am I freaking out about this?_ Dean wondered, watching the face of his phone.

 

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:37 p.m.**  
_Such a gentleman. ;) I would love to go for a ride in Baby._

 

Dean blew out a breathe he didn't notice was lodged in his throat. His pulse was slowly decelerating after the last text. This was good. No anticipation of crappy dates and a need for two cars.

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:38 p.m.**  
_What time?_

 **Text received from _Cas_ at 9:38 p.m.**  
_How about 7?_

 

Dean tried to think about what he had going on at work for the next couple of days. He had started on Sunday's recommendation article today before he left. And there was always the dreaded review for Devil's Trap he still needed to write. Could he get away with ordering something to go and writing about tonight's experience? A flurry of guilt weld up in his chest.

_No, I can't do that._

Dean sighed at the prospect of Crowley chewing his ass again. He was probably going to lose his job. Crowley had been adamant about the article being finished by Friday. He'd just have to make it work somehow.

 

 **Text sent to _Cas_ at 9:39 p.m.**  
_See you on Thursday at 7!_

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean exited the elevator on his floor Wednesday morning with a bounce in his step. He couldn't seem to get Castiel off his mind. All his thoughts as he fell asleep were consumed with plush lips and strong hands. All his dreams throughout the night were filled with bright blue eyes.

He walked into his cubicle with a face splitting grin as he thought back on last night. He was as giddy as a school girl.

He started his computer after placing his messenger bag upon the desk and draping his jacket over his chair. He fell into the seat with a sigh.

"Spill."

Dean nearly jumped three feet into the air at the sound of the woman's voice. He quickly swiveled around to face the voice's owner after feeling his heartbeat start again.

"Shit, Charlie! Tryin' to give me a heart attack?!"

The redhead eyed him curiously. "Spill."

"Spill what?" Dean questioned. "I have no idea what you're talking about?"

"I know you haven't had enough coffee yet to be this chipper. You either got some really good news or you got laid," Charlie replied, taking in his demeanor.

Dean blushed at the last bit of her statement. The heat encompassed his entire face, right to the tips of his ears. There was no way he'd be able to hide it.

Charlie gasped as she watched his skin tinge a deep red. " _You got laid_."

Dean's stomach flipped at Charlie's proclamation. His face broke out in another wide smile as he ducked his head in an almost sort of shyness.

"You remember Cas?" Dean asked after getting his blush under control.

"Cas? As in Dorothy's dreamy boss, Castiel?"

Another smile spread across Dean's lips at just hearing Castiel's full name.

Charlie giggled. "You didn't?"

"I ran into him at his brother's restaurant. He followed me into the parking lot after I kinda had a stupid gay-panic moment. We got to talkin' and one thing lead to another."

"In the parking lot?" Charlie asked incredulously.

"In the backseat of Baby."

Charlie giggled again. "You slut," she exclaimed, slapping him lightly on the knee.

Dean laughed heartily in response. "You said it yourself. He _is_ dreamy."

"So...are you gonna see him again?" Charlie queried curiously.

"We have a date tomorrow night," Dean answered proudly.

Charlie rose suddenly, wrapping her arms around Dean's neck. She squeezed him tightly. "Aww, my lil' gay baby is growing up so fast."

Dean pried her arms off his shoulders, displacing her into his lap. "Alright, shuddup! And I'm not gay." The last word was barely above a whisper.

"No, but you are a little bi. And it's nothing to be ashamed of, Dean."

"I know, Charlie. It's...it's just...it's all so new, and you are _one_ of three people that knows. So, can we not make a big declaration out of it just yet?" Dean stated, imploringly.

"Sure thing, buttercup," Charlie answered, squeezing his shoulder gently.

"Thanks, Char," Dean said, leaning into her grasp. "Hey, you got lunch plans?"

"No," the redhead replied. "You wanna go somewhere?"

"Crowley is making me rewrite my review for Devil's Trap and being a total dick about it. I went there last night for dinner, but ran into Cas. And you know how that went. So, I need to go back. Again. Please come with me," Dean pleaded, giving her his best puppy eyes.

Charlie rolled her own blue-green eyes. "Yeah," she huffed, "but you're buying."

Dean smiled down at her. "Of course," he said with a wink.

"Alright, Winchester, enough flirting," she said as she scrambled off his lap. "Some of us have work to do."

"'Bye Charlie!" he called as she moved through the cubicle's doorway.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Nearly an hour and a half after Charlie's visit, Dean was busy typing away on his computer. He was anxiously trying to complete Sunday's piece before moving on to the review for Devil's Trap after lunch. Over the clacking of the keyboard keys, he heard a heavy door open in the hallway. Two breaths later, "Winchester, my office. Now."

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. "What does he want now?"

He sighed deeply before saving his current document, and closing out the window.

He trudged toward Crowley's office, wishing to be anywhere but there. As he walked in, Crowley looked up from the papers strewn across the wide desk.

"Come in. Sit, sit," the British man said, waving Dean forward. He moved from the desk to close the office door, allowing the two men privacy.

After the door latched shut, the squat man turned to face his employee. Dean took in everything about Crowley...his facial expression, his posture, the way his hand smoothed out his tie. Dean couldn't get a read on him.

"You went to Devil's Trap last night, yeah?" Crowley asked, walking back to the mahogany desk. Instead of sitting down, though, he stood with his back to Dean, in front of the panel of windows overlooking the streets below.

Dean nodded for his own sake, and finally croaked out, "Yes."

"So, your working on your new review now, then?"

Dean cleared his throat before he spoke, " No, sir."

Crowley turned around and cocked his head in wonder. "No?"

"No. I'm finishing up Sunday's piece, and then, I was going to start on the review," Dean explained. The editor didn't need to know he was going to Devil's Trap for a third time at lunch.

"So, how was your meal?" Crowley inquired, finally sitting back down.

"The beer was good," Dean snarked, giving the other man a lazy smile.

"And the food?"

Every muscle in Dean's body clenched at the question.

_What do I say? Do I lie? Say it was great? Fuuuuuuuuck!_

Dean's blood roared within his ears. His heart tattooed an erratic rhythm against his ribcage. He could feel sweat prickle along his hairline the longer the silence continued. Crowley raised his eyebrows in question, waiting for an answer.

"Uh, about that. Something came up just as the food came out, and I had to leave. I wasn't able to try anything other than a beer," Dean clarified.

A wave of disgust rolled off Crowley's body as his eyes slipped shut. He exhaled a big breath, trying to calm him emotions. After a moment, his eyes snapped open, and he pulled a manila folder from a stack of papers to his right. He gently set the folder in front of himself, making sure none of the contents spilled out.

 _This is it,_ Dean thought. _This is where I get canned!_

Crowley steepled his fingers in front of the thin line of his mouth, placing his elbows on top of the folder. "And you didn't think to take the food with you?" he asked behind his pudgy digits.

"I was in a hurry, and it wouldn't be a correct assessment of the service, sir," Dean said, practically choking on the lump in his throat.

"I guess that's fair. You couldn't ascertain if the service was good from your home, now, could you?" Crowley reasoned, folding his hands on the folder.

Dean shook his head no, afraid a squeak would come out if he tried to talk.

"Something came up, you said?" Crowley questioned, slipping a finger into the folder to open it. A stack of, what looked like photographs, were tucked inside.

Dean paused as he tried to understand what Crowley was up to before answering, "Yes, sir."

Crowley pinched the corner of the top photograph between his thumb and index finger. He admired the picture before speaking again. "Was that _something_  a pair of blue eyes with tousled hair?" He set the photograph down on the desk before Dean.

Blood flooded Dean's face as he took in the scene in the photo, and then, he immediately paled. It was of him and Castiel; leaning against the Impala in an intense lip lock, fingers knotted in the other's hair. The air was sucked from his lungs, as if he'd been socked in the stomach when the second photograph was placed in front of him. It showed Castiel climbing into the back seat of the Impala, shutting the door behind him.

Dean balled his hands into tight fists where they lay his lap. He knew they were white-knuckled from the force of his blunt fingernails digging tiny crescents into the flesh.

The next photograph showed a hand being dragged through the condensation of a fogged window. It must have been Castiel's because Dean didn't remember doing it at any point during the night.

The last picture Crowley placed in front of Dean almost made him wince. It was obvious what they'd been up to in the backseat; from their rumbled clothes, to Dean missing the flannel he was wearing in the first still, and to their mussed hair. They were connected again at the lips, wrapped in a passionate embrace.

Dean was trying with every fiber of his being to quell the panic rising within his body. "Did you...did you have me...followed?" he stammered out.

"Of course," Crowley answered without a beat. "I have all my journalists followed."

Dean just stared for a moment, trying to fully understand what his boss, the editor of Lawrence Journal-World, just admitted to him. He shook his head in disbelief. "Are you afraid you'll get scooped? This isn't Cosmo, buddy. I think your ten best sex secrets are safe with us."

"No. It's for little shits like you who don't do what I ask, when I ask the first time," the shorter man replied, scooping up the photographs to place back into the folder.

"So, you're gonna blackmail me now? If I don't write the review you want, you'll reveal my big secret?" Dean huffed, vibrating with pent up anger.

"Basically. If you don't give Devil's Trap a flying review, I'll spill the beans," Crowley said with a sinister smile.

"Who ya gonna tell?"

"Say, does John still play golf down at the Country Club?" Crowley sneered.

"You wouldn't," Dean hissed behind his teeth.

"Then, get me my review."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!! I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays! 
> 
> As always, I enjoy the kudos you leave and comments you write! Love you all! <3
> 
> Enjoy!

He felt numb. So numb.

_What the hell just happened?_

Dean remembered sitting in Crowley's office staring blankly at a group of eight by ten photographs. Not grainy, black and white photos from a cheap point and shoot. No, these were crystal clear, in high-definition color. If the lighting had been better, every one of his freckles would have been on display. That was how good of quality these pictures were.

Before he knew it, Dean was being man-handled out of his editor's office and shoved into the hallway. His body jolted at the sound of the heavy door abruptly slamming in his face. He lumbered back to his cubicle, feet plodding against the worn carpet beneath his boots.

Everything was so fuzzy. So many thoughts swirled inside his head, but he couldn't grasp ahold of any of them. It felt like what he imagined those simulated hurricane booths at the mall would be like. Very off-kilter.

Dean stumbled, trying to gently ease himself into his desk chair. He shook his head from side to side, trying to clear any haziness clouding it. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as his heart pounded an erratic rhythm behind his ribs. Sweat gleamed along his brow under the harsh, fluorescent lights from above his seat.

Trying to calm himself, Dean took in two slow, deep breaths. If he just did what Crowley asked, everything would be okay.

_Fuck, Crowley knows about Cas!_

Apparently, so did the photographer.

The thought of someone like Crowley knowing about his sexuality slammed into him. Dean gripped the edge of his desk. His head swam in dizziness. Breaths wheezed in and out of him as his heart hopped around in his chest. He screwed his eyes shut as tried to steady his breathing.

Images of Crowley showing his dad pictures of groping hands, fogged up car windows, two male bodies tucked in close flooded his brain. He could see the disgust painted across his dad's face. And the disappointment.

Dean's heart lurched at the thought of disappointing his dad. Bile rose to his throat as his stomach churned with the feeling of regret.

Instead of following in his dad's footsteps, he'd gotten his degree in journalism and not engineering. His dad always seemed to poke fun at his job with LWJ. If he ever found out Dean was attracted to men, there's no way he'd ever live it down.

Dean could just hear his dad now: 'A queer food critic? Well, you're just somethin' else.'

All the hurt he knew he'd feel from his father's reaction, knotted his stomach. He couldn't go through letting John down again. It was all too much.

Dean blindly reached for the garbage can under his desk. He hunched his upper body over the opening, and spewed his breakfast into the black, plastic receptacle. All the panic and anxiety he felt bubbling up inside fell into the waste basket.

He thought he had every right to feel the way he did. The stress of finding out your boss learned private information about you and turned around to blackmail you with it, warranted a little vomiting. It wasn't Dean's finest moment, but he needed to deal with the stress somehow.

After emptying the contents of his stomach and a few dry heaves later, he sat back in his chair. He fought with a stack of paper napkins inside a desk drawer before successful freeing one to wipe his mouth. Dean scrunched it up in a loose ball, and tossed it on top of the mess inside the container.

He sat dazed for several minutes, holding the garbage can in his lap. Dean knew what Crowley was asking of him. It went against everything he stood for as an honest and fair food critic and journalist. He wasn't quite ready for John or anyone else, for that matter, to know about his bisexuality, though. As much as he liked Castiel and everything he felt when he was around him, this secret needed to remain a secret just a little longer.

He would reluctantly agree to Crowley's terms.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

"Hey, Winchester. I was thinkin' you forgot about our lunch date."

Dean snapped out of his zombie-like state to find Charlie looming in the entrance to his work area. "What?"

"Dude, it's twelve-thirty. You are pretty on the nose when it comes to taking your lunch at noon. You okay?" the redhead asked, staring at the garbage can clutched in his hands.

Dean swiftly placed the can under his desk before his best friend could ask anymore questions. "Yeah, sorry. Musta spaced out or somethin'," Dean replied, wondering where the last forty-five minutes had gone.

"Well, you ready?"

Dean glanced around his little space absent-mindedly. He had accomplished absolutely nothing since returning from Crowley's office. He was still sluggish from the shock of learning Crowley's discovery, deadened somehow. Everything was still blurry around the edges, unfocused. He shook his head to displace the cobwebs.

He removed himself from the rolling desk chair, feeling his pockets for keys. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Charlie giving him a puzzled look.

"You sure you're okay? You seem a little outta it," she commented, taking a small step into the cubicle.

"I'm fine. Just stressed, I guess," he said after finally locating his car keys on his desk near the computer. He walked past Charlie into the hallway.

"Alright," she murmured, turning to catch up to Dean who was almost to the elevator.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

The ride to Devil's Trap was filled with mostly uncomfortable silence. Dean's favorite classic rock radio station played quietly in the background. Charlie tried to joke about a few things her co-workers did earlier in the week, but it didn't receive the reaction she was going for. Dean knew the redhead knew something was going on with him, but he didn't know how to explain the situation.

 _By the way, Charlie, our boss, the editor of the entertainment section for Lawrence World-Journal is a low-life, shitbag. He currently has a person under his employ to follow all his journalists around to take pictures of their private life,_ Dean thought grumpily. How do you explain that to someone without them freaking out? You don't.

Dean pulled the Impala into the nearly full parking lot of Devil's Trap, wishing this nightmare were over already. He didn't want to be here, wasting his lunch hour on mediocre food. At least the company was good. He just needed a way to shake himself of this funk.

The pair walked to the entrance of the sports bar side by side. Dean reached for the door's handle to pull it open for Charlie, but she stopped him, guiding him away from the restaurant. Dean looked at her quizzically, eyebrows tented.

"You'd tell me if there was something the matter, right?"

Dean looked Charlie in the eye. Concern was written all over her face. The truth was right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he assured her everything was okay. "Yes, of course."

Charlie sighed. "Okay, good."

Dean felt a twinge of guilt stab him in the chest. This was surely going to come back and bite him in the ass.

He followed Charlie back to the main door, and yanked it open, ushering her inside.

A different greeter from the previous night escorted them to their table. She explained their server would be right over to take their drink order. She left, throwing Dean a flirty wink. Charlie giggled into her menu. Dean just shook his head with a smug smile playing across his lips.

Dean scoured his menu for the drink options. He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted since he'd been there less than twenty-four hours ago, but he wanted to make sure he hadn't missed any choices. While deciding what he would have for lunch, the waiter stepped up to their table.

"Hi, I'm Andy," he called out, "I'll be your server today."

Dean stilled in his seat. He grasped the laminated menu a little harder than was probably necessary.

_Of all the rotten, stinkin' luck...of course we got Andy._

Dean briefly raised his eyes to Andy, and the man sucked in a sharp breath when their eyes met.

_Fan-friggin-tactic, he recognizes me, too!_

"Afternoon, sir. I'm glad you decided to return. I hope you'll be able to enjoy your meal this time," Andy said casually.

Charlie peered over her menu, an eyebrow quirked.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," Dean quickly answered, lowering his gaze back to his menu.

"What can I get you to drink?"

Charlie piped up, "I'll have a strawberry lemonade, please."

Andy nodded and turned to Dean. "And for you, sir?"

"I'll have a Coke," Dean replied, pretending to be engrossed in his menu.

"Okay. I'll be right back with your drinks."

After the other man left, Dean huffed a big sigh.

"What was that about?" Charlie queried, eyes never leaving her menu.

"He was my waiter from last night," Dean supplied, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Ah, gotcha. Awkward."

"Yeah, ya think," he said, tossing his menu onto the table softly. "Pretty sure he caught me and Cas holding hands at one point last night."

"So?"

Dean looked at Charlie like she'd grown a second head for a brief moment. "So? What part of our conversation from this morning don't you remember?"

Charlie startled slightly at the roughness in her companion's voice. Her brows knitted together, trying to parse out what Dean meant. She leaned forward like she was going to whisper; her menu was pushed up against her chest. "You mean, keeping your sexuality a secret?"

Dean shushed her, waving a hand to lower her voice. He glanced around the restaurant, trying to notice if anyone was paying attention to them. "The less people that know, the better. Especially now there's the photographer, and fuckin' Crowley knows-"

"Wait, what?! Crowley knows? How?" the redhead exclaimed, pouncing on Dean's words.

Dean's eyes slammed shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose while thinking of what to say. How did he accidentally let that slip?

"Dean?"

_I haveta tell her. It won't be pretty, but..._

The green-eyed man exhaled a deep breath, watching curiosity and panic play across her features. "Crowley, our paranoid bastard of a boss, has a photog on the payroll to follow his employees around."

Charlie sat back in her seat, staring at him owlishly.

Dean paused before continuing, "Crowley called me into his office earlier, and showed me pics of me and Cas...from last night."

A small gasp filled the air around their tiny table. Charlie blinked in stunned silence.

"We're not talkin' two dudes holdin' hands- though, there is some of that. It's heaving petting, making out, fogged up windows, wrinkled clothes," Dean informed. He looked down at his lap, almost in defeat. "There's no denying what we were doing."

Charlie reached across the table, motioning for Dean's hand. His big paw swallowed up her palm, wrapping their fingers together. She squeezed him gently, trying to convey she felt his pain.

After a few moments of quiet reflection, the friends were interrupted by their returning server. Andy handed them each their respective refreshments, and warily, takes in the scene before him.

"Are you ready to order? Or do you need a few more minutes?"

Dean removes his hand from Charlie's calming grip. He smiles at her and nods, "I'm ready, if you are."

"Um, I'll have the BLTA Croissant Sandwich, light on the mayo, please," Charlie stated, handing over her menu. "With French fries."

Andy turned to Dean after scribbling down the first order, "Let me guess, Devil's Trap house burger with cheese, no onion?" The man let out a small laugh.

Dean narrowed his eyes, not amused in the least. He watched the other man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed audibly.

"It...it was just a joke," Andy stuttered. "I just f-figured you'd order the same thing since y-you didn't get a ch-chance to eat last night."

"I'm not in the mood for a burger today," Dean quickly answered. Andy shook his head in scared understanding. "I will have the California Chicken Sandwich instead."

"Fries as well?" the server asked, swiping the menu from Dean's hand.

"Please," Dean agreed, reaching for his glass of Coke.

"It should be out shortly," Andy murmured as he headed to the kitchen to place their order.

Dean enjoyed a few sips of his drink before Charlie spoke up again. He knew she wouldn't be able to let it go for long.

"So, what does he want?" Charlie inquired, tearing the corner of her paper napkin.

He knew she was only curious about Crowley's demands, but he was hesitant. "He, uh, didn't like my first review of this place, for whatever reason, and wants me to rewrite it. Wants me to give Devil's Trap a stellar recommendation," Dean sneered at the idea.

"And if you don't?" Charlie balled the torn piece in between her fingers.

"If I don't-," Dean paused. "He threatened to tell my dad about me and Cas."

Charlie shook her head slowly at his response. Dean couldn't tell if she was in disbelief of Crowley's threat or his own cowardice.

"I'm not ready, Char. I've known Cas less than a week. I'm still trying to come to grips with who I am and what it all means. If my old man found out about this, it would devastate him. And if he doesn't find it out from me, I think it'll be even worse," Dean explained in a hissed whisper.

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Dean. I get it. Lesbian, remember?" Charlie soothed, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. "I just can't believe Crowley is willing to stoop to blackmail to get what he wants. Why does he care about this place anyway?"

Dean expelled another heavy sigh. "No fuckin' clue."

After a bit of companionable quiet, the conversation turned to more light-hearted topics. Dorothy and Sam's wedding both came up while they waited for their food.

_"She's so great, Dean. We all need to hang out together. You'll love her."_

_"I can't believe my baby brother is getting married in six weeks. When did that happen?"_

_"She has the cutest laugh."  
_

_"This time next year, I could be an uncle."_

The pair's food finally arrived after a considerable amount of time to wait. They were there at the tail end of the lunch hour rush on a Wednesday. It shouldn't take more than thirty minutes to throw two sandwiches together. Unfortunately, Dean wouldn't be including their wait time in his new review.

He grumbled inwardly, hating the predicament he found himself in.

He groused even more when he saw the plates' presentations. Both his and Charlie's sandwiches were sloppily put together, just like the first time he came in. The lettuce and tomato on both sandwiches looked like they were contemplating an escape and running off the plates; the French fries were piled haphazardly next to each sandwich. The guacamole on his sandwich dripped messily onto a nearby fry, reminding him of those gross burger commercials for Carl's Jr. with the hot girls. He wondered how he could eat it without making an absolute mess.

Dean peeked up at Charlie as she was about to take a bite. Pieces of sliced turkey and avocado fell immediately from the croissant when she lifted the sandwich from the plate. A disgust look grew across her face as she pulled the sandwich away and chewed her bite.

Charlie set the sandwich down on her plate and pulled it apart. "I told him to go light on the mayo, right?"

"Yeah, why?" Dean wondered, looking at the disaster of a sandwich before his friend.

"It's swimming in the stuff," she replied, shuddering.

"Do you wanna send it back? I can get the server back over here," Dean remarked, looking around the restaurant for Andy.

"No, no I'll just scrape it off," Charlie muttered.

"They won't learn if you don't say somethin'," the food critic pointed out.

"Yeah, but if this place is as bad as you say it is, I'll get my food back with a big ol' loogey hidden under my bacon," she quipped, using her knife to push the excess mayonnaise onto her plate.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, probably. This place is so terrible." He braved the mess of his sandwich and brought it to his mouth. Several more dollops of guacamole splattered onto his plate below. "Luckily, this is the last time I'm ever comin' here."

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

The two friends finished their meal, quietly bad-mouthing Devil's Trap to each other. Dean admitted to Charlie how Andy was a much better server than Meg, but he was only one aspect of the whole restaurant experience. The lack of professionalism and improper plating of food showed inexperience in the kitchen. Or just laziness. Dean didn't know which was worse. Charlie agreed it would be better if they retrained the kitchen staff or hired a new one. She giggled as Dean wondered aloud how they were still bringing in customers after this long.

Dean couldn't help but think of their meal at Fallen. Now, there was a restaurant deserving of a rave review. Castiel ran a business well, and his chef and staff knew what it took to keep the customers coming back. He would have no trouble complimenting the jazz club when it came time to write its review.

Unlike now.

He sat at his computer trying to think of nice things to say of an establishment he found to be only subpar. He would have no trouble berating Devil's Trap; he had the first time around. Now, it hurt his very soul, attempting to twist truths into lies.

He didn't want to mislead his readers and send them to a restaurant with horrible service and carelessly assembled plates. They deserved better.

Dean had finished putting the finishing touches on Sunday's rec piece for Polenta Fries from The Burger Stand after he returned from lunch. He attached his snapshot of the crunchy and flavorful side dish, admiring the way the sprinkle of parmesan cheese and parsley appeared in the photo. He sent a copy to Crowley and his copy editor, praying the Brit wouldn't make him rewrite this article as well.

To fill the several hours he had left before he could technically go home for the evening, Dean decided to outline his article for Devil's Trap. It was easy to come up with the usual information he always included in his reviews like address, phone number, type of food they served, et cetera. He was finding he had a hard time describing what he enjoyed about the sports bar. Maybe he should talk about the multitude of big screen TVs littered around the rooms?

Thinking about what to say in a review had never been so difficult. All he could imagine after publishing the piece were the calls and emails he'd get for falsifying his article.

 _'This place is horrible!'_  
'I've never gotten such awful service!'  
'My order was all wrong!'  
'This Dean Winchester guy is a fraud!'

He'd received angry emails for saying a little eatery was only so-so or the charm of a diner was the only thing going for it. Everyone was entitled to a difference of opinion, but the magnitude of hate mail Dean envisioned was too much to bear.

How had he allowed himself to get into this position? A pair of dazzling blue eyes came to mind.

_Oh, right._

Dean combed his fingers through his hair, tugging on the short strands. _Fuck my life._

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean's stomach was so knotted as he read over his final draft of the Devil's Trap review, he thought he was going to throw up. He hated every word of it.

_Lieslieslieslies_

Maybe it would have been better to just come out to his dad. It would have saved him all the indigestion. Dean knows that isn't true either. It would just be a different source to his sour stomach, on top of possibly being jobless.

Dean had spent a good portion of the prior night finishing the review's outline and fleshing out a partial rough draft. He tossed and turned the majority of his time in bed, dreaming of lynch mobs coming to string him up by his toes.

He wished he could tell Crowley to fuck off. He wished he could tell himself he didn't care what his dad thought. He almost wished he had never met Castiel Novak.

Of all the lies he had written in the last twenty-four hours, that would be the most painful lie of all.

He would have never had the opportunity to feel warm, full lips against his. Or the scrape of five o'clock against his neck. Or long fingers ghosting across his stomach under his t-shirt.

Dean sighed at the thought of missing everything he'd done and _felt_ with Castiel. His eyes refocused on the computer screen, scanning each bit of misinformation.

_'A+ service! A taste explosion my mouth! Great atmosphere!'_

_Who the hell wrote this? I am garbage._

Dean rubbed at his temples in small, circular motions. He knew the article was shit, but it's exactly what Crowley asked for. Devil's Trap would get its glowing review, even if it cost Dean's journalistic integrity. He hated himself so much.

He forwarded the final draft to Crowley, wondering if it was truly worth it. It was too late to turn back now.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

It was four forty-five. Dean decided he was going to skip out fifteen minutes early. He thought he'd earned it after all the stress he'd been through in the last day, maybe even week. Crowley could suck it. He had a hot date to get to.

As he was walking down the hall to the elevator bank, he noticed one of the cute girls from the front desk approaching him. The color of her lips matched the red of her tight, cardigan sweater.

"Hey, Dean," she smiled shyly. "Someone just dropped this off for you." She handed him a small, white envelope.

"Thanks Krystie," he said, giving her a wink. Krystie blushed and turned back down the hall.

Dean opened the envelope, pulling the crisp stationery out. It was a handwritten note from the owner of Ted's Taphouse:

 

**_Dean,_ **

**_Thanks for the awesome review! Enjoy!_ **

**_-Ted_ **

 

Inside the letter were a pair of box seat tickets to next Saturday's Royals game. This was a beyond generous gift. But then again, the salted caramel bacon pops were to die for and they had an excellent selection of beers on tap. There was no arm twisting to write that review.

He'd invite Sammy out if he wasn't too busy.

Dean was suddenly all smiles again. It seemed the day was starting to look up after all. He was ready to put the whole Crowley fiasco behind him and enjoy his evening out with Cas. And now, he had kick ass seats to a Royals game.

He waited only a minute or two before the elevator to his left dinged open. He stepped inside, smiling like a loon. He pushed the already illuminated ground floor button, out of habit, and moved to the back of the elevator car.

"Heya, sport!"

Dean's head shot up to see who the obnoxious voice belonged to. Beside him stood Zachariah Adler, grinning.

Dean tried as best he could to conceal the shiver racking his body. Zachariah was the last person he was hoping to see tonight.

"The last time I saw you, you were headed to Fallen. How was it?" Zachariah questioned.

"It was good, sir. My friend and I had a wonderful time," Dean responded, trying not to make too much eye contact.

"I said to call me Zach," the older man barked, then pasting a fake smile on his lips.

Dean flinched. "Sorry, I forgot," he mumbled.

Zachariah laughed, playfully punching Dean in the shoulder. Dean automatically brought a hand up to rub at the sore spot, grimacing.

"What did you have to eat?" the balding man asked, licking his lips.

Dean had never hoped for an elevator ride to be over any faster as he did in that moment. "I had the Louisiana Crab Cake, Smothered New York Steak and Lemon Ice Box Pie." He didn't know why he'd been so precise, but it all same flying out like word vomit.

"Mmm, just wonderful, wasn't it?" Zachariah looked as if he was salivating just thinking of Dean's dinner.

Dean only nodded, trying to control how wigged out he was feeling around the guy.

"When can the wife and I expect your review?"

Dean lowered his hand from his shoulder, trying to recount when the review was even due. "Um..."

Zachariah squinted his eyes in suspicion.

"It-it won't be out for at least two weeks. Maybe three," Dean stammered.

The smile slid back onto the other man's face like a creepy Cheshire Cat. "Good, good."

They rode the remainder of the way in awkward silence as the elevator zoomed them to the ground floor.

After exited the elevator together, Zachariah revolved on his heel, facing the younger man behind him. "I am anxious for the review. Your work is always excellent, but I'm curious as to what you have to say." His gaze hastily swept up and down along Dean's frame. "It's always a pleasure, Dean. I hope to see you soon."

The almost deviant smile returned, causing Dean's breath to catch in his throat.

And just as quickly, the man wheeled around and was out the lobby door.

It took some time, but Dean's heart finally jump-started into action. He shoved a hand into his already messy locks, trying to calm his breath. He was going to need at least ten drinks to soothe his frayed nerves from the last day and a half.

_Everything is fuckin' nuts, man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DATE NIGHT!! 
> 
> Am I the only one who gets super hungry after reading chapters involving restaurants or description of food? Well, this is no exception. ;)
> 
> Feedback and comments mean the world! <3

Driving toward the address Castiel had texted him, Dean couldn't help but think back on his conversation with Zachariah. The guy was definitely off, in a creeper sort of way. What was up with the look he gave him before he left? And that smile?

_What the fuck?_

Even after his relaxing shower, Dean was still out of sorts. The day had been a total shitshow. There was no way he was going to let Zachariah, or Crowley for that matter, ruin his date with Cas, though. He would just have to sweep everything work-related from his mind.

 _Well, except the actual meal,_ Dean thought. _That's for the rec piece._

Dean blew out a steadying breath. It didn't seem to help. His hands gripped around the steering wheel tightly as he focused all of his frustrations from his job on the vibrating steering column.

_How did I get here?_

Everything in his life had been peachy until-

_Cas._

His stomach flipped at the thought of the other man. He didn't want to think about it, but everything appeared to go to hell around the time he met the blue-eyed man. It had only been a week. How was his life so crappy all of of a sudden?

_No, it's not Cas' fault. He's just the innocent bystander in all this._

He released another breath, vowing not to think about work for the rest of the night.

_To hell with work!_

He chuckled at the thought. If only it were a real possibility. He loved what he did, but it was going to turn him prematurely gray, if he wasn't careful.

The remainder of the drive was spent imaging what Castiel would be wearing for their date. All the times Dean had seen him, Cas was always in a suit and tie. Not that he was bothered by the formal wear; he quite enjoyed seeing Cas dressed up. Dean just hoped he understood it was okay to let his hair down once in a while. Especially since Dean was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

Arriving at Castiel's apartment complex, Dean was hit with a blast of nervousness. It didn't occur to him until that very moment he was actually going on a date with another man. He thought he'd come to grips with his attraction to men two nights ago, but the jittery feeling in his gut set him on edge. He was moments away from knocking on the guy's front door; now was not the time to freak out. He hoped it was excitement. After all, he had never experienced anything like what he felt when he was with Castiel.

Smiling, Dean shut the door to Baby, and headed to Castiel's apartment. He admired the nicely landscaped walkways between apartment buildings. The green grass was cut short and the hedges were sculpted into perfect rectangles. Pretty clumps of pansies and snapdragons decorated the ground around the sidewalk to each building's stairwell. If he didn't already have his house, Dean thought this would be a nice place to live.

He quickly climbed the stairs to the third floor, taking two steps at a time. He thought about what a bitch it would have been moving in all his furniture up three flights of stairs, and was thankful his house was a single story. Castiel seemed like the type to hire a moving company, though, and Dean wouldn't have blamed him.

Dean had no trouble finding Castiel's apartment. All the doors were brightly lit with their own personal porch light, which was welcomed in the waning sunlight.

Expelling the last bit of nervousness he felt, Dean rubbed the back of his neck before rapping three times on the solid, beige painted door. He could hear shuffling inside as he waited for the entry to Castiel's apartment to swing open.

Moments later, the door finally cracked open to reveal the most casually dressed Dean had ever seen the other man. Castiel's legs were wrapped in a pair of tight, dark-washed jeans which were worn out in all the right places. A thin, light blue t-shirt stretched across his chest and broad shoulders. His dark hair was carefully tousled in an "artfully messy" sort of way. His feet were laced up in a pair of dark blue Converse.

Dean sighed at the sight of his date, and relinquished the breath he'd been holding in his lungs. Castiel looked incredible in just a t-shirt and jeans.

"Hello, Robert," Castiel greeted with a dazzling smile, one hand hanging on the door.

Dean nearly whimpered at the sound of his voice and the incorrect name falling from his lips. He silently berated himself for not cleaning the pipes, so to speak, before heading out. He was going to have a hard time keeping Little Dean under control if Castiel continued to smile at him like that and looking good enough to eat.

"Heya, Cas," he exhaled. Dean cleared his throat as he took one last look at Castiel's outfit. "You look nice. You ready to go?"

Castiel smiled shyly, "Thank you." He tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, willing the minuscule wrinkles to straighten out. "Let me grab my jacket, and I'll be ready."

Dean stepped into the entryway of the apartment, taking in the neatly decorated living room and open-concept kitchen on his left and right. "Nice place you got here," he called down the hallway Castiel disappeared to.

Castiel reappeared, slipping his arms into a soft-looking, fitted leather jacket.

_Yup, shoulda jacked off._

"Thank you again," Castiel remarked. "It's a nice, little complex."

Dean fiddled with his key ring as he watched Castiel adjust the ebony jacket around his shoulders. How had he never noticed Castiel's body before?

 _Probably because you can't get past his eyes and his mouth,_ Dean's brain chastised. He had to agree. Both were mesmerizing.

Castiel raised his eyebrows in anticipation and smiled as Dean continued to stare.

"I'm sorry for staring," Dean apologized, "but you look really, _really_ good tonight. Like, so good, I'd take you right here on this couch, if I wasn't so hungry."

Castiel let out a low, gravelly laugh at the admission. "I'll have to keep that in mind for later tonight," he replied with a smug smile.

Dean blushed at the thought of fooling around on Castiel's couch. His own crooked smile spread across his mouth.

"Should we head out?" the shorter man asked, stepping toward the doorway.

It took Dean several seconds to realize Castiel was speaking to him. He was lost in the thought of sweaty, naked bodies writhing around on the couch cushions. "Y-yeah, Cas. Let's go."

The dark-haired man grabbed a set of keys from a ceramic bowl sitting on a table near the entryway. He ushered Dean through the door's opening before turning back to lock the deadbolt and door handle.

The two men leisurely made their way down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot. Castiel stopped abruptly in front of the Impala, admiring her sleek lines and glossy paint job. "How is it she gets sexier every time I see her?" Castiel murmured.

Dean was almost positive the comment was never meant to reach his ears, but the thought of his date swooning over Baby made the butterflies in his chest bounce around erratically. He'd never had anyone react the way he did toward his pride and joy, and it caused the blood in his veins to burn with desire.

Stumbling off the curb, he swooped in before Castiel could get a chance to open his own door. Dean may not be dating a woman, but that didn't mean he shouldn't be chivalrous. The door squeaked in protest as Dean held the door open while Castiel climbed into the passenger seat. The scent of his leather jacket and cologne wafted up toward Dean's nose. He inhaled deeply, picking up notes of rosewood, myrtle, bergamot and blue iris. His eyelids fluttered as the scent encompassed him. He was caught off guard for a moment as his body reacted to the woodsy, masculine scent.

Dean swiftly circled around the back of his car, pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch before he entered the driver's seat.

 _I just need a moment_.

What he hadn't expected when he got behind the wheel was to be devoured by the intoxicating scent of the other man. He was in _so_ much trouble.

Dean proceeded to sit in silence, gazing out the windshield. The open palms of his hands slipped along the length of his thighs as he enjoyed the unique smell of Castiel's own body chemistry and his cologne.

The restauranteur turned to Dean when he didn't immediately start the car's engine. His brow furrowed in confusion as his companion continued to sit in silence. "Is everything okay?" he finally asked.

Dean swiveled to his passenger with a content smile plastered to his face. "Everything's great, Cas." He leaned into the empty space between them, and brought his left hand up to cup Castiel's cheek and jaw. "Shoulda done this at the door."

His body pressed in further until his lips gently brushed against Castiel's mouth. The kiss was chaste but breathtaking. Cobalt eyes dropped closed as the kiss lengthened. Pink lips mashed together as the two men shifted closer together on the bench seat. A whispered moan slinked past Dean's lips. He craved the feel of the pillowy lips against his, but knew he must stop if they were ever going to make it to dinner.

He broke the kiss, nudging the triangular nose in front of him with his own. His thumb softly rubbed circles along Castiel's stubbled cheek. Their rapid breaths puffed out, expanding along flushed skin. Dean mumbled as he planted a kiss to Castiel's other cheek. "You smell _so_ fuckin' good tonight." He placed another kiss to fevered skin. "You will be the death of me."

Castiel chuckled a deep laugh. "That is not my intention."

"Well," Dean countered, "if you keep dressin' sexy as fuck and smellin' the way you do, I will be in an early grave."

"Look who's talking," Castiel laughed again. "Mr. I-could-wear-a-garbage-bag-and-still-be-hot."

Dean threw his head back and barked a hearty laugh.

"You're very intimidating, Robert," Castiel added.

"So are you," Dean admitted. "With your stunning eyes and God, that body!"

Castiel pecked his lips, and drew back with a soft grin. "I'm glad you find me so aesthetically pleasing. I feel the same about you."

Dean went to reply, but instead, a loud grumble from his stomach filled the car. Both men giggled at the noise interrupting the moment.

"As much as I'd like to continue this, I will die of starvation if I don't eat soon," Dean joked.

Castiel rotated away from Dean, and re-positioned himself in his seat. He patted Dean's right thigh twice before giving it a tiny squeeze. The gesture was intimate, but Dean liked it all the same.

He beamed from his seat as he turned Baby's engine on. They rumbled out of the parking lot and headed downtown.

As Dean made a sharp right out of the apartment complex's driveway, several receipts and an envelope tumbled to the footwell in front of Castiel. He bent over to pick up the scattered items, and return them to their original spot on the seat. As he straightened the heap into a neater pile, the contents of the envelope caught his eye.

At the end sticking up out of the envelope was a barcode with other identifying numbers underneath. He smoothly pulled the pieces of paper further out, noticing the picture of a baseball diamond along the middle. He finally realized they were baseball tickets when he saw the blue emblem for the Royals below the stadium picture.

Dean glanced over to see why the other man had gone so quiet. Castiel was giving the tickets from Ted a scrutinizing eye.

"You a Royals fan?" Dean asked, breaking the car's silence.

Castiel sustained eye contact with the tickets without making a response.

"I was gonna ask my brother to go with me, but since he won't return any of my calls, maybe I'll find someone else to go with," Dean informed, keeping his eyes on the road.

Castiel hummed in agreement.

"Y'know, since they are really good seats, I'd hate for them to go to waste," Dean added, trying to subtly drop a hint to the man beside him.

"It would be a shame. I imagine they are fairly expensive," the dark haired man replied, tucking the tickets back into their envelope. Castiel looked over to Dean to see an expression on his face he could only assume meant "well???"

"Oh, were you asking me to go with you?" Castiel wondered.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, Cas. You interested?"

Castiel pulled the tickets back out, making note of the game's date. "For June sixth?"

Dean leaned closer, trying to sneak a peek at the tickets' date as well. "Is that what the tickets say?"

"Yes, at seven oh five."

"So?" Dean inquired. "Wanna go watch some baseball with me?"

He thought for a moment. "I'll have to get Gabriel to cover the restaurant, but it shouldn't be a problem," Castiel returned, placing the tickets back in the envelope once again.

Dean smiled broadly, "Then, it's a date."

Castiel's face split into a grin just as big. "It's a date," he repeated.

 

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

 

Ladybird Diner was always one of Dean's favorite places to eat, and he was devastated to hear they had to shut down due to the fire which started next door at Biggs on Mass.

Before the fire, Ladybird was a popular place with the locals, so it's no surprise to Dean he can't find a close parking spot to fit his boat of a car. After several passes around the block, one big enough finally opened up.

This is the first time Dean's been in since they reopened last week. Even for a Thursday evening, the small diner is almost packed to the gills. Dean can't blame the crowd. He's always enjoyed the homestyle food with a twist.

Their wait time is minimal before they are seated.

Before looking at his menu, Dean admired the new paint job and typical diner decor. The two main outer walls of the building are exposed brick with a black and pastel yellow retro mosaic tile flooring. The ceiling was decorated in white and copper-colored tin tiles. The padded bar stools around the white Formica bartop were a slate gray with sparkly gold cushions. The trim around the bar's underside was a silver aluminum side in a mosaic pattern to match the flooring. Colorful handblown glass pendulum lights hung over every third seat. The booths along the right side brick wall were in a blue-green vinyl with wooden trim.

It's exactly how Dean would imagine a small town diner in the 1950s.

A beautiful blonde with an armful of tattoos shimmied up to their table. "What can I get you boys to drink?"

"I'll have a pint of the Tank 7, please," Dean replied.

The waitress turned to Castiel and waited for him to answer.

"Chocolate milkshake for me, please," he answered with a smile.

"Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?" the blonde asked.

"A few more minutes, please," Dean piped up before Castiel could say anything. The waitress nodded and mentioned she'd be back with their drinks shortly.

Dean was too busy looking at the new changes to decide on dinner. He was glad they were able to reopen so quickly after the fire. He really missed coming here with Charlie for lunch.

After deciding on what to order, Dean set his menu down and looked at Castiel. He had removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. He sat with his elbows perched on the table's edge, menu still in hand. His sapphire blue eyes roamed over the plastic menu.

"Have you ever eaten here before?" Dean asked, watching the tan skin below light blue shirt sleeves flex over tight muscles.

"No," Castiel replied, glancing up at the taller man sitting across from him. "This is my first time in here, even before the fire."

"It's one of my favorite places," Dean admitted. "I would recommend almost everything on the menu."

Castiel smiled. "Well, that doesn't help me decide. Everything sounds delicious."

Dean smirked at the other man's little pout. "Well, whatever you decide on, I guarantee you'll leave here happy and full."

As Castiel set his menu down, the waitress returned with their drinks. "So, y'all decided?"

Both men nodded in agreement. Facing Castiel and reaching into her apron for her order pad, she smiled brightly, "What can I get you, cutie?"

Dean watched the pink rush to his cheeks as he tried to overcome his fluster. "Uh, I'll have the Classic Diner Double Cheeseburger with fries."

"A little pink or no pink in the middle?"

"No pink," he answered, handing her his menu.

"And you handsome?" she asked Dean.

"I'll have the Crispy Baked Sweet Tea Pork Chops," he said with a wink. "Oh, and can I place my order now for Hap-Pie Hour?"

The waitress grabbed his menu, "Sure thing, sweetie. What would you like?"

"A slice of coconut cream, please."

"A man after my own heart," she remarked, returning his wink. "Your food should be up shortly."

"Hap-Pie Hour?" Castiel asked after the blonde left to put in their orders.

"Yes! Their pies are to die for! They are so good!" Dean was practically drooling as he talked about the different types he'd tried. "Apple streusel is my favorite at Christmas," Dean explained with exuberance.

Castiel enjoyed watching the light flicker in Dean's dark green eyes has he reminisced about past pies.

"If you ever get the chance, try their donuts, too. They are almost as good as their pies."

Castiel laughed at the mention of yet another pastry.

The conversation quickly turned to Fallen and whether Gabe had pulled anymore pranks recently.

"No, thank goodness," Castiel said with a sigh of relief. "I can barely stand to be around him when he gets into one of his moods."

"Don't you worry about him doing something while you're gone for the evening, and you leave him in charge?" Dean pondered.

"I did in the beginning," the blue-eyed man answered honestly, "but the restaurant is as much his livelihood as mine, so I think he realizes he shouldn't mess with it too much." He paused, "Well, at least I hope he realizes it."

Dean snickered at the admission. "Let's hope."

Minutes later, their waitress came back with their food. "Pork chops for handsome," she said setting the plate in front of Dean. "And the cheeseburger for Blue Eyes."

She placed a bottle of ketchup down on the tabletop before asking, "Anything else I can getcha?"

"Everything looks wonderful," Dean stated before the blonde left to help other diners.

Dean glanced down at his plate of steaming food. He couldn't wait to sink into his pork chops. The seasoned breading looked baked to crispy perfection while he imagined the inside was juicy and flavorful from the sweet tea brine used in preparation.

While his garlic cheese grits and buttery string beans were messily piled on his plate, he didn't scoff at the thought of it. Diner food could be messy as long as it tasted good.

Dean cocked an eyebrow as Castiel tried to muffle his moans over his cheeseburger as he took another bite. "I haven't had a burger like this in a while."

The taller man internally patted himself on the back for choosing a food establishment Castiel enjoyed.

_Perks of being the town's food critic. You know we're all the good food is served._

While Castiel lost himself in his burger, Dean slipped his phone from his pocket and opened the camera app. He angled the camera just right to get the best lighting on his plate. He rapidly took several pictures before closing the app and putting away his phone.

Grabbing his fork and knife, Dean took one more look at Castiel enjoying his cheeseburger. Instead, he found the man sitting with a knitted brow and burger raised halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Castiel set his cheeseburger on his plate and wiped his hands on his napkin. "Did...did you just take a picture of your meal?"

Dean blushed at the question. What should he say?

_He probably thinks I'm some food-obsessed weirdo._

Dean came up with a lie quickly, "Uh, yeah, I did. I keep a food journal, and taking a picture of my food helps me remember everything I've eaten. Makes counting calories a lot easier."

Castiel's shoulders eased as he dipped a French fry in a glob of ketchup. "Oh," he sighed. "I thought maybe you were a secret food blogger, and I would have to insist you feature my restaurant in every post." He smiled sweetly after chewing.

Dean laughed at the thought of what Castiel believed he was really doing.

_Just doing my job._

"Nope, just trying to stay fit and watch what I eat."

"I see how that would help," Castiel said, reaching for his burger again.

Dean hated lying, but he saw no other way until his review of Fallen came out. It was for the better good. Dean knew that was a crock of shit, but he had to believe it for the sake of his job. He just hoped Castiel would understand when he finally found a way to tell him the truth.

After both men had finished, leaving barely a crumb on each of their plates, the waitress returned with Dean's slice of pie. She set the dessert plate down with two forks, and started clearing away the table. As she turned to leave, plates carefully balanced in her arms, she threw a wink over her shoulder.

Dean gently nudged one of the forks toward his date while snatching the second utensil for himself. He glanced up from under a fringe of eyelashes to find Castiel blushing. He watched as tanned fingers pulled the fork closer and position it in the palm of his hand. Dean knew sharing dessert was something reserved for couples farther down the dating road, not on a first date.

 _To hell with proper dating etiquette,_ Dean thought as he pushed the pie plate closer to Castiel.

As his fork was just millimeters from gliding through the pie, Castiel's hand stilled. He raised his gaze to Dean, and placed his arm back on the table. "Shouldn't you take a picture first?"

"What?" Dean asked, not quite understanding.

"For your food journal. Don't you need a picture?"

"Oh, right," Dean hummed a laugh. He pulled his phone from his pocket again and snapped a quick shot, playing along. "Thanks for reminding me. Although, I doubt I would have forgotten I'd eaten this, to be honest."

"That good?" Castiel asked skeptically.

"Dude, just try it."

Castiel grinned as he lifted his hand from the table and lowered his fork into the gooey dessert.

Dean admired the way the other man's fork sunk slowly through the fluffy whipped cream and pale yellow custard. The tines easily broke apart the flaky crust as Castiel scooped the globs of pie onto his fork.

Dark blue eyes fluttered shut as the dessert touched his tongue for the first time. A sound, almost reminiscent of the moans earlier, escaped through Castiel's lips as he enjoyed his bite.

"Right?," Dean exclaimed. "Best pie in town!" He helped himself to a hearty forkful before joining Castiel in savoring the sweet coconut flavor with a sinful moan.

"I'm usually not a fan of pie," Castiel said around a mouthful, "but this is quite delicious. Thank you for sharing."

Dean smiled at the acknowledgment. _Another convert,_ he thought sneakily. "Didn't want you to miss out. Like I said, 'Best pie in town.'"

Castiel nodded his head in agreement, sliding his pink tongue along the backside of his fork, and licking the custard he missed on the first sweep of his lips and tongue.

Dean watched dumbstruck as the utensil moved around the lush mouth across from him. He fidgeted in his seat as he continued to observe Castiel taking bites of the pie. Slipping a finger into the collar of his t-shirt, Dean fanned himself with the soft cotton as his body temperature suddenly spiked. His pulse picked up as his glittery green eyes followed the movements of Castiel's throat as he swallowed.

 _I know something else he can swallow_. Dean kicked himself under the table for the dirty thought, really wishing he could get a grip on his hormones tonight.

"Are you going to get in on this? I'm starting to think you bought this for me," Castiel said, dragging Dean from his fantasy.

"Oh. Sorry. I was just..." he trailed off, not knowing if he should admit what he was thinking about or not. "Never mind."

Castiel eyed him questioningly as Dean sliced through the remaining pie. He could tell Castiel was debating with himself, trying to decide if Dean's thoughts were something he should ask more of or let it go. As his eyebrows eased from their crumpled position, Dean realized he had moved on. He was relieved. Dean wasn't sure if he was ready to discuss his horndog imagination on a first date in a diner or not.

As he took his last bite, Dean purred with contentment. God, he loved pie. Castiel looked as if he was filled with the same emotion.

He rubbed a hand over his full belly as he looked around at the few diners left scattered through the room. Though he had an ulterior motive, Dean was happy he'd chosen to bring Castiel to the Ladybird Diner.

_Can't go wrong with good, classic food._

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

The soft sounds of the radio filtered from the speakers of the Impala as Dean navigated his way through the streets of Lawrence back to Castiel's apartment. Dean tried to steal quick glances at the man beside him as he drove, but every time he looked to his right he caught a pair of blue eyes staring right back at him. The quiet interior of the car was filled with the sound of sweet giggles each time it happened.

Dean's heart soared with each peal of laughter. He needed to figure out how to keep Castiel laughing and smiling because, to him, there was no greater sound in the world. He could listen to his deep, gravelly guffaws all day; they were like music to his ears. The way his nose scrunched up or his eyes crinkled from his gummy smile had Dean's stomach dipping like the free fall of a roller coaster ride. He knew he was so gone.

_How could this be? It's only been a week._

The two long-term relationships he'd had in his life were nothing like this in the beginning. It had taken at least a month for Dean to feel remotely as love-sick as he did at this moment. He felt like a fourteen-year-old girl swooning over her first crush. Dean definitely did _not_ swoon.

His swooping stomach said otherwise as Castiel's hand crept along the seat and brushed along his thigh. The butterflies now felt like beating dragon wings trying to bust through his ribcage.

He was so screwed.

 _Maybe it was because Cas was a guy and everything was so new?_ Yeah, maybe.

As they sat at a red light, Dean glimpsed down at his watch. The face read eight thirty-one. The night was still young in Dean's eyes. He didn't want to seem overeager, but he really hoped Castiel invited him up when they got back to his place. He wasn't ready for the night to end. He did have work in the morning, but he didn't care at this point. A little sleep could be sacrificed to spend more time with the sexy restaurant owner.

Dean put Baby in park once he found a spot in Castiel's complex parking lot. He twisted in his seat to face his passenger. The overhead sodium light's eerie yellow color poured in from the window, bathing Castiel's hair. The light circled his head like a halo.

_He is so beautiful._

Dean blushed at the thought. Societal views dictated beauty was reserved for women and all things feminine, but he couldn't deny the fact that Castiel exuded a rugged and beautiful quality. He stared longer than he probably should, but he couldn't get enough of this man.

This _man_.

Dean's mind jumped to the fact he actually went out on a date with a man, and the world hadn't ended. Well, as far as he knew, anyways.

There was no one ready to string him up or throwing rotten vegetables for enjoying the company of a successful and handsome man. The world went on as it should.

A small smile quirked at his lips. He could do this. He could entertain the idea of dating a man, being in a relationship.

_Wait, did Cas even want a relationship?_

Dean had no clue what this thing he was starting could or would evolve into. Was Castiel looking for just a friend with benefits or something more exclusive? Dean's heart raced at the thought of uncertainty.

Was he ready to take that step himself? Be in an exclusive relationship?

_It's been one date, man! Chill the fuck out._

His inner voice was right. It had only been one date, but in the back of his mind he saw potential. Castiel didn't seem like the 'no strings attached' type, especially the way he described the way he felt toward Dean as they were fooling around the other night.

If anything, Dean was curious to find out where this could go.

"I had a good time, Robert," Castiel remarked, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Thank you for going out with me tonight."

"Me too, Cas," Dean replied, inching closer to the warm body beside him. "And thank you for dinner."

"My pleasure," the dark haired man said, scooting his backside along the leather bench seat.

Their knees knocked together in the tight space of the front seat. Dean leaned his head in, feeling warm breath feather-soft against his skin. Lips collided for the second time that night, brushing tenderly. There wasn't any urgency to the kiss, just the pleasant drag of heated flesh.

Castiel smiled sweetly against Dean's mouth after breaking the kiss. Their foreheads touched briefly before he pulled back. "Would...would you...like to come up for a drink?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean returned the smile and let out a sigh. "Yeah, Cas. I'd like that."

Castiel pressed a quick peck to his lips before angling toward the passenger door. He beamed over his shoulder before grabbing the door's handle and pushing the hinged metal open.

Dean snatched the keys from the ignition and scrambled out of the driver's side. His boots scuffed across the blacktop as he scurried to join the restaurateur on the sidewalk. Even though he knew where the apartment was located, he paused beside Castiel to allow him to lead the way.

The jittery butterflies returned to Dean's stomach as he viewed Castiel's hand reaching out to him, suspended in air. He stared at the hand as he contemplated what to do.

_It won't bite. Just take it._

Without thinking, he extended his hand toward Castiel's and clasped them together. His jumbled nerves sparked the instant their skin touched. A warm, radiating feeling crawled through his veins, up his arm, as long fingers entwined with his own.

As Castiel lightly tugged him down the sparsely light pathway to his building, Dean welcomed the familiar sensation creeping through his limbs as he stepped closer to the stairway leading to the waiting apartment.

When the pair made it to Castiel's front door, the journalist's skin was buzzing like cicadas in the summertime. The thrumming electric currents coursing through his body had eased slightly, leaving him blanketed in the feeling of coming home.

Was this what he was doing? Coming home?

He wasn't sure exactly what he was feeling. He'd never felt like this before, especially not with Lisa or Cassie.

His breath shuddered as Castiel dropped his hand to unlock the door. It stopped completely when the blue-eyed man looked over with Dean's favorite smile lighting up his face.

Dean stalled at the threshold as he watched the leather cloaked back disappear into the darkened apartment. Was this a mistake? Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to the nightcap.

No, he wanted to be here with Castiel. He was just suddenly overwhelmed with the realization of what he was experiencing from the man's touch. _A sense of belonging._

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll grab the drinks."

Dean cautiously stepped into the softly lit living space. He was quickly bombarded with the subtle scent that was uniquely Castiel. It smelled of his soap, cologne, and books. He had noticed it earlier in the night, but it hadn't impacted him like it was now. It smelled amazing, but it didn't affect him like before when all he wanted to do was ravage Castiel's body. Now, it wrapped around him like a warm hug, comforting him.

"You take your whiskey neat, correct?" a voice called from the the kitchen.

Castiel's deep timbre snapped Dean from his thoughts. "Wha'? Oh, um, yeah, please," Dean answered, clearing his throat.

He was still standing in the entryway when Castiel emerged from the kitchen with two tumblers filled with amber liquid. One of the tulip-shaped glasses was pressed into his hand, and he instantly raised it to his lips. He tried not to gulp it, but he couldn't think of another way to calm his gathering anxiety any quicker.

Dean waited for the burn down his throat, but was answered with a soothing warmth sliding down to his belly.

_Of course he'd have the good stuff._

He lifted his gaze to a find a confused look across Castiel's face. Expecting a game of twenty questions for his odd behavior, Dean was ushered to the living room to take a seat on the couch instead. He lowered himself down onto the creamy leather couch, only to be joined seconds later by a solid body on his left.

Castiel placed his drink down on the glass coffee table situated inches from their legs, and slipped the glassware from Dean's fingers to set it on the table as well. His body turned toward Dean's, kneecaps pressed together. He raised his left hand to cuff around the side of Dean's neck, rubbing his thumb along the underside of his jaw. Dean leaned into the big hand, aching to be closer. Goosebumps prickled his smooth, golden skin from the action of the other man's thumb.

His green eyes slipped shut as he enjoyed the caress and the feeling of closeness, lulling him into a sense of tranquility. Castiel continued to stroke his jawline as all the nervous energy he felt before was leached from his body.

Dean soon snapped back to awareness when the hand at his neck was replaced with a hot breath and a deep rumble tickled the tiny hairs of his ear.

"I meant what I said before," Castiel whispered, "I really did have a good time tonight."

Dean felt the skim of moist lips brush against his earlobe. He stifled the whimper bubbling up in his throat. "S-s-so did I."

Castiel leaned away from Dean, and softly pushed him into the backrest of the couch. He swung his leg over the taller man's own legs, and climbed into his lap. "I enjoy our time together. You're smart, funny, caring."

Dean grasped at the waist in front of him as the tip of Castiel's tongue snaked up the length of his neck, laving at the skin below his ear. Dean practically purred as his skin was massaged.

"I haven't been able to get the idea of what you said earlier out of my head," Castiel said into the slick skin of Dean's neck. "I've been imagining you taking me on this couch all night."

Dean groaned at the confession. He clutched at Castiel's t-shirt, pulling him further down onto his lap. He was already half hard from remembering their kiss earlier in the night and Castiel licking at his neck. Now, with the shorter man grinding on his crotch and admitting his dirty thoughts, Dean would be fully erect in a matter of seconds.

Castiel slammed their mouths together as he swiveled his hips. Dean moaned a string of incoherent words as his hands travelled to the swell of Castiel's ass. Their bodies writhed like a constrictor wrapping around its prey, hands along skin and in hair. Tongues slipped in unison, teeth nipped at swollen lips. Dean bucked up, trying to gather any friction he could. He let out a lustful groan as Castiel yanked at the short strands of his light brown hair. Dean could feel the other man's arousal against his lower belly as he gyrated his hips, seeking his own friction.

Dean was caught up in the moment, indulging the pleasure center of his brain when a switch flipped. Castiel was fingering the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it up when he stopped him. He grabbed his wrists, moving the tanned hands away from his own body.

The look on Castiel's face was of confusion and hurt. Dean knew the look from his own experience and had given it a time or two.

"Robert?" Castiel panted.

Dean winced at the wrong name. He sighed deeply and rested his forehead against the shoulder above him. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts amongst the jumble of emotions and sensations he was currently feeling. "I'm sorry," he started.

"For what? Did I do something wrong?"

_Of course, he thinks this is on him!_

"No, no. You did nothing wrong," Dean assured.

"Then what?" Castiel questioned, placing his hands back on Dean's body at his shoulders.

Dean heaved another sigh, trying to collect his wits. He looked up to see a sadness in Castiel's eyes. "I like you, Cas. Like _really_ like you."

"I like you, too," Castiel informed, a lop-sided smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

"This is all so new to me. I've never been with a man before and it kinda freaks me out," Dean admitted.

Castiel was no longer looking at him but at his lap. His brow was slightly pinched above the bridge of his nose.

"And because I like you so much, I don't want to mess anything up."

Castiel only nodded.

"I can't believe I'm about say this, but I wanna take things slow with you. I want to give this a shot, and really get to know you," Dean revealed.

"What about-?" Castiel started.

"The other night?" Castiel nodded again. "Don't get me wrong, Cas. That night was amazing, and I enjoyed every minute. I just think if this is gonna work out, we both need to keep it in our pants for a little longer. At least, until we learn more about each other."

_Or until I gets the balls to tell you what I really do._

"Okay, Robert. I understand and agree."

_Tell him, you chickenshit. Tell him it's Dean._

"Yeah?" Dean asked instead, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Of course! I want you to be comfortable in this relationship, considering it's your first one with another man. I'll go at whatever speed to need me to," Castiel answered.

Dean's chest felt as if it would burst from the way he was feeling toward Castiel at the moment. He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on the red, kiss-swollen lips in front of him. "I don't think I deserve you but thank you."

Castiel returned the kiss with a smile.

Dean gently pushed the other man from his lap before standing up and readjusting himself in his pants. "I think I should go," he said after everything was back in place.

Castiel followed closely behind as Dean strode to the front door. He turned to face the blue eyes that still carried a note of sadness. "I'll call you to figure out our plans for the game, 'kay? Or you can text me whenever you like," Dean affirmed. He kissed Castiel one last time before stepping out the door.

His shoulders sagged as he heard the door shut softly behind him as he walked down the steps to the parking lot. All at once, the realization of his actions crashed down on him. He climbed into Baby once he reached her parking spot and started her up. The tip of his cock smeared the pooling precome gathered there inside his boxers as he shifted in his seat. His balls ached from the lack of release, and his semi-hard member throbbed just because.

"You're a fuckin' idiot, Winchester."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos! You have no idea how much they mean to me! <3

Dean's alarm rang through his quiet bedroom at what felt like ass o'clock in the morning. He swatted at the vile machine, pressing buttons blindly. Eventually, the obnoxious ringing ceased, but not before he had half a mind to yank it from the wall and throw it across the room.

Dean rolled over onto his back, throwing his left forearm over his eyes. He heaved a deep sigh, trying not to think about last night's screw up. He'd spent hours tossing and turning, replaying the night's events over and over. Each scenario he imagined happening differently in his head still left him unsatisfied and hating himself.

As much as he wished it weren't true, he knew he did the right thing by stopping wherever their make-out session was headed. It was completely hypocritical, considering what transpired in the backseat of his car four days ago, but he wasn't lying about how much he liked Castiel.

He was trying to turn over a new leaf, wasn't he? And that included cutting out his love 'em and leave 'em behavior.

Although, he couldn't see himself dropping Castiel like a bad habit. He was drawn to the man, and not just in a sexual sense. He couldn't quite explain it, but he knew he wouldn't be able to resist his desires for long. After all, the guy _was_ fucking gorgeous!

Dean dragged himself out of his warm cocoon of a bed, and headed straight for the kitchen. Since he barely slept for more than three hours the night before, caffeine would be a necessity to make it through the day. He fumbled with the coffee maker, adding water and grounds, and willed it to brew faster.

What was the old saying- "A watched pot never boils?" Did that theory apply to crappy coffee makers, too? It seemed slower than usual today, and his lack of sleep wasn't helping with his impatience. Maybe he should invest in one of those fancy Keurig machines?

Instead of waiting for the normal hiss and sputters to sound from the applicance, Dean headed for his bathroom to shower. A cold shower would definitely wake his ass up.

God knows he needed it. He had never cockblocked himself before, and he was paying dearly for it. The majority of the night was spent fantasizing about what Dean would have done differently if he hadn't let his virtue run the show.

Standing under the steamy warmth of the shower spray minutes later, because _fuck_ cold showers, Dean imagined the solid press of Castiel's body over his own. He could almost feel the way those strong hands ghosted over his skin, slipping across his chest and down his sides. The heat of Castiel's breath spread over his neck and shoulders, shrouding him in the heady scent of whiskey.

Dean's own hand slid down his stomach while the water sluiced over his body. He grasped his cock with tender intent, stroking it once, twice. It responded quickly, curving up toward his belly. He mimicked the raspy moans swirling inside his brain, tugging at his hardened cock with more purpose. Fantasy Castiel ground his hips into the scorching flesh at the Y of Dean's legs, gripping at his ribs. The bruising pressure of his fingertips was a delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

Dean slapped a hand against the frosted glass wall of the shower, propping himself up as he continued sliding firm strokes up and down his reddened erection. Panted declarations echoed in his ears, encouraging the continuation of his self-pleasure.

" _You have no idea how much I want you!"_

_"Your body feels so good against mine."_

_"I wanna watch you come."_

As soon as the last phrase was out of Fantasy Castiel's mouth, the coil within Dean's belly snapped, filling his limbs with the overwhelming sensation of euphoria. Sparks of black speckled his vision. The pads of his fingers gripped the glass as Dean tried to force his body to stay upright. Thick, pearly white ropes flowed over his hand and splattered onto the tiled floor at his feet as a strangled "Cas!" fell from his lips. He worked himself through his orgasm, breaths surging from his lungs with the exertion of his activities.

After coming down from his high, Dean quickly soaped up his body, avoiding his overly sensitive cock, and rinsed thoroughly. His skin zinged with what felt like a thousand volts.

As he toweled himself off, he contemplated ways to learn more about the restaurant owner with sapphire eyes and _fast_. Dean knew his resolve wouldn't hold if he continued to fantasize about Castiel.

He padded back into his serene bedroom, naked as the day he was born. The cooler air of the room caused goosebumps to spring over his shower-flushed skin. He took a brief look at the disheveled sheets of the unmade bed centered in the room, and commanded his imagination not to conjure up images of him and Castiel tangled in the covers and their own sweaty, naked appendages.

He whipped around to the dresser standing to his left. If he wasn't looking at the bed maybe he wouldn't think about what he wished to be doing.

_Out of sight, out of mind, right?_

As he fished through the oak dresser looking for a decent pair of clean jeans, he wondered what the hell was going on with him. His body was acting like it did when he was a teen, rampant hormones and all. His cock bounced heavily between his legs as he shifted from one foot to the other. He wasn't supposed to be this turned on.

He grabbed a pair of socks and boxers from the top drawer, and made his way over to the offending piece of furniture. He tossed the acquired clothes onto the undisturbed duvet at the foot of the bed.

Dean made the short distance from his bed to his closet in three long strides. He rooted through the shirts, pushing the hangers from side to side. After a tiny search, he pulled a red, orange, white, and slate gray flannel and matching gray t-shirt from their spots in the closet. With the new additions in hand, he shuffled back to the bed and placed them next to the jeans. He plucked the boxers from their spot, trying to ignore the rumpled linen.

Standing beside the bed, Dean guided his feet through the openings of the boxers, feeling the pull of the fabric at his leg hairs as he manipulated the garment up his bowed legs and over the curve of his ass. He briskly snatched the jeans from the bed, and hauled them up his body to his waist. The sound of the zipper being dragged closed filled the silent room, disrupting the placid vibe of the atmosphere. All Dean heard, though, was the breathy grunts and slip slide of skin occupying his ear canals.

Dean hurriedly buttoned the jeans before forcing his arms and head into the t-shirt, yanking it down his torso. He obtained the flannel and socks from the duvet, and practically ran from the room, down the hallway leading to his living room. He refused to be taunted by his own bed.

As he made his way, Dean slid his arms into the buttery soft plaid shirt, juggling the pair of socks from one hand to the next as he wrapped the overshirt around his shoulders and back. He smoothed the collar before plopping down on the closest couch cushion to the master bedroom. He grappled with the boots he'd carelessly chucked to the floor when he returned from Castiel's the night before; trying to gather the footwear without leaving the comfort of the couch. He shoved his feet inside the shoes and hastily tied the laces.

Dean launched himself from the couch when he noticed the time on the clock hanging from the kitchen wall. He collected a travel mug from the cupboard, and poured the cooled coffee he'd made earlier inside. Twisting the lid onto the mug, he looked around the countertops for his keys. Remembering he'd tucked them into last night's pants, he reluctantly returned to his bedroom to search for the key ring.

Without giving the messy bed a single glance, Dean paced to the corner where he'd thrown the blue jeans. He rummaged through the pockets, and within seconds, the keys were in his grasp as he hurried from the room.

Journeying to the kitchen again, Dean seized the silver colored travel mug from the counter. He snagged his messenger bag on the pass by the dining table, and jetted to the front door. He briefly stopped to lock the deadbolt, and strolled to the beauty of a car parked in the driveway.

With all the shit Crowley was giving him lately, the last thing he wanted to do was provoke the jerk by being late to work. It was like purposely asking for trouble.

_No thanks!_

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

 

The moment Dean placed his messenger bag on the desktop in his cubicle, a clipped British accent bellowed into the corridor surrounding the different cubicles and main offices. "Winchester, my office now!"

Dean rolled his eyes as he huffed an exasperated sigh. "Fuck my life," he whispered as he turned the corner to Crowley's office.

He entered the stuffy office and shut the door behind him. It was too early for what seemed like his daily lecture.  
Flinging himself into the chair across from the sizable desk where Crowley was seated, Dean hoped this wouldn't take long. Three hours of sleep and one cup of coffee wasn't nearly enough to deal with the ego or attitude his editor possessed.

The paunchy man studied Dean for several moments before rising from his seat. He lifted a hand to grip the wand of the Venetian blinds hanging over one window of his office and twisted it open. He moved casually to the next window, and repeated the same motion until all five sets of blinds were open. The glaring, late May morning sunlight filtered into the office space through the wooden slats.

Dean smoothed his perspiring palms along the rough denim of his thighs, wishing Crowley would yell at him already and stop drawing it out. He watched as the other man stood facing the windows, hands clasped together behind his back.

Crowley wheeled around slowly, eyes sliding along Dean's body. "You look tired," he finally spoke. "Not get enough sleep last night?"

Dean eyes narrowed at the smirk on the Brit's face, automatically jumping to the defensive.

"I'm fine," Dean answered, a slightly gruff tone leaking in. "Get to the point of this conversation, Crowley. I know you couldn't care less about my sleeping habits."

"That is where you are wrong. I care about all my employees," Crowley proclaimed, smoothing his blood red tie to his chest.

Dean scoffed. "Right? That's why you've hired a photog to follow them around, breaching their privacy."

Crowley shook his head. "I do it for your protection and mine."

Dean gritted his teeth, leaning forward in his seat. "The only thing you're trying to protect is your own bottom line," he fumed, flopping back away from the desk. "What's the real reason you called me in here?"

Crowley exhaled loudly, circling around to the front of his desk. He perched on the edge of the mahogany piece with his hands folded in his lap. He eyed Dean with a look of kindness. "I like you, Dean. You're a good writer, and I've always enjoyed your articles. I've even used your recommendations to pick a place to eat, a time or two. One of the reasons I've given you so much freedom."

He picked at a piece of lint on the leg of his black trousers before flicking it away. "You did a wonderful job on your second review of Devil's Trap. It was exactly what I hoped for. It will run in tomorrow's edition."

Dean knew his editor was baiting him, trying to get him riled up. He knew the review was far from how Dean really felt about the bar and grille. Dean breathed slowly through his nose, trying to calm himself. Crowley expected a reply full of piss and vinegar, arguing about the bullshit of the review. Instead, Dean asked, "How is that any different than normal? My review pieces always run on Saturdays?"

"It's no different. I just wanted to inform you when it would run."

 _Or when I should expect to start receiving hate mail,_ Dean thought.

Crowley folded his arms across his chest as he continued speaking, "Like I said, I enjoyed the _second_ review."

Dean's stomach roiled as he sensed what was coming. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

"But, I'm going to need more," Crowley said, watching Dean's hands ball tighter.

"More? I already wrote the review you wanted. What else could you possibly need?" Dean questioned, fearing what his boss would ask.

"I want a rec piece for Devil's Trap."

Dean sat in shocked silence. He knew Crowley was slimy, but he never realized he would stoop this low. He couldn't do it. He couldn't make him. "No."

It was Crowley's turn to sit in shock. Dean reveled in the confused look on the man's face. Dean knew Crowley hadn't expected blatant refusal from him.

"No?" Crowley repeated, making sure he'd heard him correctly.

"You heard me the first time," Dean cracked. "I said no."

"There's no room for negotiation, boy. You'll do this whether you like it or not."

Dean steeled himself against the threat. "How 'bout not," he quipped.

Crowley's face reddened with anger and frustration. Dean knew he was playing with fire, but he'd rather lose his job than cow to a blackmailer.

"I don't think you are understanding me. You _don't_ have a choice in this. You _will_ write the rec piece," Crowley remarked, the pigment of his skin returning to its normal hue.

"Or what?" Dean asked, gaining more bravado. "You'll fire me? There is nothing I have eaten so far that I would recommend except maybe the beer, but even that wasn't great. The second server I got was a lot better than the first, but I'm still pretty sure he was high. The kitchen staff can't take simple orders and needs to be retrained. There is nothing good about that place. Nothing."

Dean stood from his seat, inches from Crowley's smug face. "Like _I_ said," he sneered, repeating Crowley's phrasing from earlier. "I will not do a rec piece for that dump."

Dean swiveled on the balls of his feet and started for the door.

Crowley calmly hoisted himself from the lip of his desk, and returned to the extravagant chair behind it. He placed his elbows on the desktop, acting as if nothing happened moments ago. His gaze landed on Dean's back as he folded his hands once more. "I received a wonderful invitation, just yesterday, to a monthly poker game."

Dean stilled with his hand on the doorknob. The muscles in his neck and shoulders quivered. This couldn't be good. He slowly turned back to the older man, curious.

Crowley pushed several papers around on his desk before seeming to find what he was looking for- a Manila envelope.

Dean's heart stopped. He was starting to dread anytime he saw a Manila envelope in this office.

"Now, I'm not really one for poker, but I couldn't resist accepting. Especially since the game is being hosted by one John Winchester." Crowley opened the envelope, and pulled a photograph out. He laid it face up so Dean could see.

The journalist found his feet sluggishly returning him back to the desk. He glanced at the photograph, worried for what he'd find.

The picture was of Dean and Castiel sitting across from each other at The Ladybird Diner, smiling. The picture was tame compared to the other prints Dean had seen in the editor's possession.

"It'd be a shame if somehow this picture was dropped into your father's lap. Can you imagine how humiliated he'd be in his own home; having his queer son outed to him in front of all his friends?"

Dean knew exactly how the eldest Winchester would feel. He would be devastated and so disappointed in Dean. "This doesn't prove anything," Dean remarked. "It just looks like I'm having dinner with a friend."

Crowley nodded, agreeing with Dean's assessment. "True."

A sinister grin soon spread across his mouth like the cat who got the cream. "Unless you pair it with this." Crowley pulled another photograph from the envelope. "Or this," he added, placing another photo on the desk beside the other two.

Dean stared at the two pictures. The first was taken through the Impala's back window. It was of him and Castiel in a heated embrace, lips connected. The second was from later in the date, when they returned from dinner. Their hands were clutched together as they walked down the path to Castiel's apartment.

"You son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

Crowley tsked, "Sticks and stones, love." He paused. "Do we have a deal? "

Dean rubbed a shaking hand down his face as he tried to weigh the consequences dangling in front of him. He could say no again and lose his job. Who's to say Crowley wouldn't go to his dad with the pictures anyway after he left? He wouldn't put it pass the man. Or he could write the rec piece and keep what little dignity he had left, with his dad remaining in the dark about his sexuality.

He just wasn't quite ready to fess up to his dad. He knew he'd have to eventually, especially if things worked out between him and Castiel. He wasn't ready for the shame and the utter disappointment, though.

"Fine," he ground out, jaw clenched. "I'll write your rec."

"Excellent! I knew you'd see it my way," Crowley exclaimed.

Of course he knew it would go the way he wanted. He had Dean's secret bisexuality hanging over his head with photographic proof.

Dean glared at the smug bastard sitting behind the big, burnished desk. It took every ounce of his control to not flip the pompous ass off. Instead, he stormed out of the office without looking back.

 

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

 

Dean stomped back to his little cubicle almost like a petulant child. Not the finest moment in his professional career, but he couldn't give a flying fuck. He was pissed Crowley found another way to bend him to his whim, almost to the breaking point. He swore he'd rather be fired than this. Logically, he knew it wouldn't solve the problem, though.

He couldn't keep doing it.

Obviously, everything Crowley was doing was illegal, but what could he do about it? Call the cops? There was no recorded evidence of the actual blackmailing, only the photos, and the smarmy dick could easily destroy that proof with a match or paper shredder. It was a basic case of he said she said.

He could hire a lawyer and sue Crowley and the newspaper for emotional distress in the workplace brought on by the blackmailing. There was, of course, always the off-chance he'd still lose his job, if he won, no matter how much Zachariah Adler liked him. Plus, there's the fact he'd have to air all his dirty laundry about Castiel to this lawyer. Was it worth it? And how much could you really trust lawyers?

 _Lawyers, lawyers._ The profession's name bounced around in his head. There was something oddly familiar about the way the word rolled off his tongue. _My brother the lawyer._

Sam.

Shit! Why didn't he think of his long-haired, gargantuan brother in the first place? He'd know what to do. Even if he didn't, Sam was always a friendly face to talk to.

Dean groped for the hard, plastic phone in his pocket, pulling it and a ball of fuzz out. He swished the fuzz to the ground, and touched the heat sensitive screen, bringing it to life. He pushed a button, recalling a list of his most recent calls. He found Sam's name at the very top.

Dean had been trying to reach his brother for several days, just to apologize for the way he acted in the bar. Sam still hadn't returned his calls.

Dean tapped Sam's name, and the phone automatically dialed his brother's number. His leg bounced as he listened to each ring pierce through the speaker of his phone. After the fourth ring, voicemail picked up. The cheerful greeting of Sam's recorded voice warmed the pit inside Dean's chest. His baby brother would know what to do. A beep sounded prominently on the other end.

Dean blew out a breath and spoke clearly into the mouthpiece at the end of his handset. "Hey, Sammy. Dean again. Tryin' to get ahold of you for a while now. Wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. Anyways, give me a call when you get a chance. There's somethin' I need to talk to you about."

He aggressively smashed the button on the phone's face to end the call. Dean knew Sam couldn't ignore him forever. He was getting married in six weeks, and Dean was still his best man, he hoped.

Dean wished this wouldn't be like the time when the silent treatment lasted for three weeks. He had added Nair to Sam's shampoo as a joke, and the kid was forced to get a haircut to even out the missing clumps. Dean thought it was hilarious; Sam not so much. Dean had tried everything to get his brother to accept his apology, and he finally did. It took some major groveling, but eventually, they were speaking again.

A week was too long to go without talking to his brother. Maybe he could go over to Sam's place with a six-pack and pizza and force the issue. As much as it pained him, Dean knew he should leave it be, and let Sam come to the right conclusion by himself. He needed to work it out his own.

All Dean could do now, while he waited impatiently for his brother to call, was focus on his work for the paper. There was always the extortion piece for Devil's Trap to labor over.

He groaned at the idea of returning to that sorry excuse of a restaurant for a fourth time. Was there anything from Devil's Trap he could possible recommend that wouldn't cause food poisoning or be easily fucked up? He highly doubted it.

Dean would have to figure something out.

Until then, he could focus all his energy on the rec piece for The Ladybird Diner and the outline for Fallen's review.

A feeling of giddiness welled up inside him at the thought of finally publishing the review. Castiel would be so pleased with the positive press for his restaurant and his chef.

Dean would be able to come clean, as well. It would be amazing to have this heavy burden lifted off his chest. No more lying. No more secrets. No more fake names. Just Dean and Cas.

He prayed Castiel would understand why Dean did it and couldn't be upfront about who he was or what he did. Something like this could definitely sully the trust in a new relationship. He didn't want a dark cloud like this hanging over them.

Dean was learning with every minute that passed just how important Castiel was becoming to him. He would hate to see their blossoming relationship abruptly end before it even got a chance to get started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all my subscribers for being so patient with me on this chapter. I changed it several times (after getting over writer's block) before I thought it was okay. Sorry it took forever!
> 
> Now that the kiddos are out of school for the summer, my half marathon season is over, and as long as the creative juices keep flowing, I'll be updating more frequently. *fingers crossed*
> 
> Enjoy!

A shrill ping echoed off the walls of Dean's bedroom. He squinted his sleep-heavy eyes at the illuminated face of his phone. Who was texting him at seven o'clock in the morning?

Suppressing the urge to throttle the texter, Dean clumsily lifted the device from the nightstand beside his bed, nearly dropping it. He squinted harder as his eyes tried to adjust to the glaring light of the screen. A smile split his face as he read the sender's name.

_Cas._

 

 **Text received from Cas at 6:57 a.m.**  
_I hope you have a great day...even if it is Monday._

 

Dean's heartbeat surged unexpectedly. The butterflies in his stomach swooped violently. His cheeks warmed as an unfamiliar emotion washed over his body. It left him feeling light and airy. He wasn't mad at being awaken before his alarm went off anymore. He was almost giddy with the thought of Castiel caring enough to send the sentiment.

_Fuck, I need to hang onto him._

Sitting up, Dean quickly typed out a reply.

 

 **Text sent to Cas at 6:59 a.m.**  
_Thanks Cas. Y r u up so early? Isn't it ur day off?_

 

Dean swung his legs out of bed, placing his feet on the plush carpet. He stood with a yawn, and stretched his arms above his head. His phone pinged again on the bed behind him.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 6:59 a.m.**  
_I just returned from my morning run. With summer approaching, I must run earlier in the day to beat the heat._

 

The image of a sweaty, pink-cheeked Castiel flooded Dean's mind. He bit into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, trying to contain the whimper the thought evoked. Running did his body good.

Dean sucked in a deep breath, clearing his head of a tanned, glistening chest, heaving in pants from the exertion. So many cheesy pick-up lines came to mind, but instead, Dean kept his reply PG.

 

 **Text sent to Cas at 7:00 a.m.**  
_Ur a runner? It shows. Ur in great shape._

 

Dean threw his phone back down on the bed, and adjusted the obvious tenting in his boxers. His self-imposed abstinence was starting to suck ass. His resolve was crumbling little by little each day. Dean knew if he continued to fantasize about Castiel, that same resolve would snap with just a look from the blue-eyed man.

He breathed out a long sigh as he went about his daily morning routine. From the kitchen, he heard his phone ping again with Castiel's reply. Dean ignored it for the moment, adding water and coffee grounds to the percolator on the countertop.

Venturing back to his bedroom, he bypassed his phone to start the water in the shower. As he peeled his sleep shirt and boxers from his body, a ping sounded again. Dean carried his dirty clothes to the wicker hamper in the corner of the room before retrieving his phone.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 7:00 a.m.**  
_Thank you Robert. You aren't so bad to look at either._

 

Dean blushed at the compliment. It was still a little weird to have another man find him attractive, but it was a nice boost for his ego.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 7:02 a.m.**  
_Anyways, I'll let you get ready for work. Just wanted to tell you I hope you have a good day. A hot shower is calling my name._

 

A warm smile spread over Dean's lips as he read the second text. It reached all the way to his eyes causing crinkles to form in the corners. The butterflies returned after reading the text for a second and third time. Castiel was adorable. Dean quickly punched out a reply before slipping into the stream-filled bathroom.

 

 **Text sent to Cas at 7:04 a.m.**  
_Thanks Cas. Enjoy ur day off! Maybe we can have dinner later this week b4 Saturday?_

 **Text received from Cas at 7:04 a.m.**  
_How about Wednesday? Gabriel will probably kill me for taking two nights off in one week, but he owes me for all the pranks he's pulled over the years._

Dean smiled again. The prospect of seeing Castiel on Wednesday caused a fizzing feeling in his veins almost like his blood was filled with carbonation. The sensation raced through his body, accumulating in his chest. Was this what elation felt like?

 

 **Text sent to Cas at 7:05 a.m.**  
_Sounds good. Pick u up at 6?_

 **Text received from Cas at 7:04 a.m.**  
_I'll be here with bells on._

 

Dean chuckled at the thought of Castiel actually waiting while wearing bells. Especially if he had one tied around his-

_No! I'm keeping all thoughts of Cas strictly G-rated!_

He practically growled at himself, cursing his libido. He really needed to get his shit together. Imagining tinkling bells tied to Castiel's naked body wasn't helping with the process. With a huff, Dean threw his phone down again, and stalked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Dean returned from his shower, feeling refreshed but still on edge. He had entered the glass stall with thoughts of silver bells tied with satin ribbon from soft, sun-kissed skin, and it took every ounce of will power he had not to wrap a hand around his arousal.

His body practically vibrated with desire as he pulled clean clothes from drawers and hangers from the closet. Dinner with Castiel may be a blessing _and_ a curse, he thought as he pulled on his jeans. On one hand, he'd be getting to know the other man better and shortening the time he expected himself to wait before jumping the guy's bones, but also, Castiel was like sex on a stick. It would be incredibly hard keeping his hands to himself all evening long.

Dean swiped his phone from the bed and strode out of the room to prepare his coffee for the drive to work.

_I am so screwed!_

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

After receiving his almost-daily reminder that Crowley basically owned his soul, Dean rushed to the cubicles where the entertainment section writers were clustered. He found Charlie at her desk having a one-sided conversation with her Hermione figurine.

"Y'know, Red, one of these days she might answer you back," Dean said, leaning against the entrance to the cubicle.

Charlie swiveled in her chair, her face nearly the same color red as her hair at being caught. "That would be so awesomesauce!"

Dean laughed at her jubilant expression. "That it would."

Charlie removed herself from the pivoting desk chair, and wrapped Dean up in a warm hug. "What's up, chicken butt?"

Dean slightly pulled back from her embrace to look her in the eye. He sighed at the thought of what he was about to ask her; he hated the idea of involving his best friend to solve his problems. "I need a favor."

Charlie straightened, realizing the seriousness of the situation. A look of concern flitted across her face. "Sure thing. Whadaya need?" she answered, smoothing a hand down his arm.

Dean stood on his tippy-toes to glance above the walls of the cubicles, turning his head left, then right. He quickly glanced out in the hallway to make sure no one was nearby. "I need you to dig up anything you can on Crowley. Find out what his connection is to Devil's Trap. Why is the success of that craphole so important to him?" he said in a hushed tone.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Is that asshole still blackmailing you?"

"Yes," Dean grumbled. "He made me write that piece-of-shit review, and now he's demanding a rec piece."

"Dean," Charlie said, voice dripping with sympathy.

"I just...I really need you to do this for me, so I can, at least, say I have something to hang over his head." Dean's shoulders sagged, his body, more or less, crumbling in defeat.

The redhead grabbed Dean's hand and squeezed it gently. "We'll figure this out. No worries."

Dean exhaled, acting as if a ton of bricks had been lifted from his chest. "Thanks Charlie."

"What are best friends for?"

"Apparently, to get you out of sticky situations," Dean replied, the sense of relief flooding his handsome face.

Charlie quickly pulled out the second chair in her workspace and gestured for Dean to take a seat. "Speaking of sticky situations...how was your date with Castiel?"

A pretty, dark pink blush painted Dean's cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, trying to will a change of subject. Charlie's eyes darkened with a knowing smile at his fidgeting.

"It-it was nice," he answered. "We had a good time."

"I bet _you_ did," Charlie quipped, not quite under her breath.

"It wasn't like that," Dean corrected, giving her a look. "We've decided to take things slow. Y'know, considering my inexperience with dating a man." The last word was whispered to cover up what it was they were actually discussing.

Charlie shifted in her seat, and gave him a look of understanding. "It makes sense you would do something like that. Dumb, but it makes sense."

Dean scrunched his brow in confusion, "What?"

"I can tell just by looking at you that you agree with me. You blushed so hard when I brought up the idea of doing the do with him." Dean made a noise like he was offended at her observation. "The guy is walking sex in dress pants, Dean. Even I got a tingly feeling."

Charlie sighed, trying to empathize with him. "I don't blame you for taking your time because you're scared. It's new and unfamiliar, and I get that. But, it could also be really, really great."

Dean groaned, "I know, Char. I just...want things to go smoothly."

A broad smile climbed up Charlie's cheeks at the realization of Dean's words. "Oh, em gee!" she squeaked. "You like him. Like, _really_ like him!"

Dean shushed her as the volume of her voice climbed higher. He looked to the opening of her cubicle again, double-checking the hallway was still empty.

"Is Dean Winchester actually catching feelings for someone he messed around with?"

Dean rolled his eyes at the comment and stood up abruptly. "You're the _worst,_ " he called over his shoulder as he exited the cubicle.

Charlie cackled, "You love me!"

Dean shook his head as he walked back toward his office, smiling at her jest. "Yeah, I do."

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

About an hour after lunch, Dean was sitting at his desk, working on his rec piece for Ladybird Diner when his pocket vibrated. Reaching inside, he pulled out his phone without looking at the screen to see who was calling. He blindly pressed the answer button, and slid the device between his shoulder and ear.

"Yeah?" he said, fingers clacking away on his computer's keyboard.

"Dean," the voice answered.

Dean stopped typing and sat up straighter, grabbing ahold of the phone. "Sammy?"

"Hey, man. How's it going?"

"Okay, I guess. I was startin' to think you weren't ever gonna call me back," Dean breathed out.

"Yeah, sorry. I've been real busy. Tryin' to get a lot wrapped up before the wedding."

Dean felt a weight lift from him for the second time today. He understood how busy Sam could get, and was relieved he wasn't purposely ignoring his calls. Even if his brother had been ignoring him, he kinda deserved it for being an ass.

"How's the planning going?" he asked. "Gettin' down to the wire. Five weeks left, right?"

Sam huffed out a breath. "Yeah, five weeks from Saturday."

Five weeks.

Dean couldn't believe in just five weeks his baby brother would be a married man. He smiled at the thought. He couldn't be happier for Sam and Jess.

"The final details are all coming together," Sam continued. "Not that I expected her to be a Bridezilla or anything, but Jess has stayed relatively calm through the whole process."

"That's good, right?" Dean questioned, swiveling in his chair.

"No, it's great. There have been a couple of hiccups, but she's stayed very collected."

"Well, it's because she's awesome, and you don't deserve her," Dean teased.

Sam chuckled, "Ain't that the truth."

Dean smiled again. They were so sickeningly sweet together, and he knew Sam was perfect for the spunky blonde.

"So," Sam said, breaking through Dean's reverie, "your last message sounded like you really needed to talk about something."

Dean flinched at the thought of his last voicemail. He _had_ said he wanted to talk about Crowley, but now he wasn't sure he wanted to involve Sam. If Charlie dug something juicy up on the editor, Dean was pretty confident he could handle the situation on his own without the need for lawyers or a lawsuit.

"I, uh, just really wanted to apologize for the way I acted at that bar," he lied. "I was being a real jerk."

"No, I got that. It sounded like you wanted to talk about something else, though," Sam replied, not entirely convinced.

Dean hated lying to his brother, but the less he knew, the better. "It was just a work thing, but it's working itself out."

Sam hesitated before he responded. "If you're sure you don't need my help after all, I should let you go."

"Hold up. What's the hurry? I haven't talked to you in almost two weeks," Dean spit out, trying to stall his brother from hanging up. A thirty second conversation was not going to quench the need to speak with Sam.

"I told you, Dean. I've been very busy."

"I get that. You aren't the only one with work, though," Dean started, swiveling back around to face his computer. "Let's hang out."

"Dean-"

"Is it wrong I want to spend time with my brother before he gets hitched?"

"We tried that, remember? It ended up with me leaving early because you didn't like what I had to say," Sam sighed, frustration evident in his voice.

"I know, Sammy, and I can't apologize enough for the way I acted toward you. How 'bout we just grab a pizza and beers and watch Netflix?" Dean pleaded.

Sam sighed again, the long breath was accentuated through the phone's speaker. "Fine, but no Doctor Sexy."

Dean gasped like he was offended, but let the comment go. "When is good for you?"

"Wednesday after work is the only free time I have this week," Sam answered.

_Shit, that's date night!_

"That's the only day?" Dean asked, trying to make it not sound like a complaint.

"I have work or wedding stuff every day for the rest of the week. Why, you busy?"

_Yes!_

"I had plans, but I can change 'em," Dean said begrudgingly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, man. Don't worry about it."

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Immediately following his call with Sam, Dean called Castiel to cancel their plans for Wednesday. He apologized profusely for having to change their date, but at least they were still getting together on Saturday. Castiel said he understood, but a hint of sadness lingered in his voice.

Dean had to admit, he was a little sad himself about the cancelled date. He was looking forward to spending more time with Castiel. He knew the man owned his own restaurant, ran to stay in shape, had a big family, and was one helluva kisser. That was all he knew, though, and he'd barely scratched the surface.

What were Castiel's likes? Dislikes? What was his favorite flavor of ice cream? Did he prefer cats to dogs? Or vice versa?

_When did I start caring whether someone liked cats or dogs better?_

_The second you decided you were done with one-night stands_ , his inner voice answered.

The corners of Dean's mouth twitched at the reply.

_No. It was the moment I laid eyes on Cas._

That moment changed everything, even if it felt like it stayed the same.

He was a changed man.

Because of Castiel.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

A feeling of melancholy still hung over Dean when he woke the following morning and drove into work. He had spent the entire evening wondering about other things he wanted to learn about Castiel which slipped him into the gloomy mood.

_It's one cancelled date. You're acting as if you'll never see him again. Stop acting like a broody girl!_

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling.

Crowley wasn't helping to brighten his mood, either.

"Winchester, do you have my rec piece, yet?" the Brit asked from the hallway outside his office.

Dean groaned at the reminder. "Workin' on it," he grumbled. Adding "Asshat," under his breath.

The thought of returning to Devil's Trap seemed to muck up his mood even further.

It wasn't until almost lunchtime when his phone rattled on his desk with a text did his mood change.

He turned the phone over to peer at its face to read the message.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 11:37 a.m.**  
_I was rather upset at the prospect of not seeing you tomorrow night._

 

The phone vibrated again in Dean's hand.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 11:37 a.m.**  
_So, I thought I'd change that._

 

Dean grinned at the second text, his interest piqued.

 

 **Text sent to Cas at 11:38 a.m.**  
_Yeah? How's that?_

 

Dean watched as the bubbled ellipsis on the phone winked at him.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 11:39 a.m.**  
_Chef Lafitte has been experimenting with a few new recipes. I thought I'd bring you lunch. :)_

 **Text sent to Cas at 11:39 a.m.**  
_Lunch?_

 

Dean's pulse increased a minuscule amount at the thought of meeting Castiel for lunch. The days had been quite lovely lately, so a picnic would be wonderful in the warm sunlight.

 

 **Text received from Cas at 11:40 a.m.**  
_Yes. I thought I would meet you in 20 mins._

**Text sent to Cas at 11:40 a.m.**  
_Where?_

 

Dean scrolled back through their texts, wondering if he'd missed the destination. He was positive they hadn't discussed anything, yet.

**Text received from Cas at 11:40 a.m.**  
_Your place of employment, of course. I will be at Singer's Auto Shop in 18 mins._

 

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Bobby's shop was twenty-two minutes from LWJ.

"Oh, _fuck_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the kudos and comments! You are the best! :)

Dean swiped his keys and wallet from his desk before racing toward the elevator bank down the hallway at a fast clip. His phone was pressed firmly to his ear as he prayed Castiel would answer his phone.

When he reached the elevators, he aggressively pressed the call button several times before stepping back. "C'mon...c'mon!"

_"You have reached the voicemail of Castiel Novak..."_

"Pick up, Cas!" Dean gritted out, pushing the end call button forcefully. A breath later, he re-dialed Castiel again.

Dean bounced on the balls of his feet as he willed the elevator to appear faster. He pressed the end call button a second time as Castiel's voice filled his ear, indicating Dean had reached his voicemail once more.

An overwhelming feeling of fear spurred on his impatience. He knew if Castiel had to wait long, he'd think something was up.

Dean pushed the call button of the elevator again as if he was tapping out a message in Morse code. Just as he was contemplating taking the stairs down, the elevator on the right dinged, sliding open its door.

"Fuckin' _finally_ ," he muttered under his breath as he slipped into the empty car. He was thankful it was empty. He was in no mood to make small talk with anyone he knew from other parts of the building.

As he slammed his thumb into the button for the lobby multiple times, an obnoxious voice called out above the noise of the office. "You better be getting my rec piece!"

Dean narrowed his eyes as he fixed a steely gaze on Crowley. His blood boiled as he watched a slimy smirk spread across the editor's face as the door crept closed.

"Fuck Crowley!" he proclaimed into the empty space around him. Crowley could take his rec piece, and shove it up his ass for all he cared. Dean had more important things to worry about at the moment.

Much to his surprise, the elevator coasted straight to the lobby without stopping at the second or third floors. Once the door opened, he threw himself into a sprint, dodging people milling around the lobby floor.

Dean shoved the glass door to the lobby open as he rushed into the blinding sunlight. He blinked rapidly, stumbling a little bit as his eyes adjusted to the harsh brightness of the midday sun.

Once he gathered his bearings, Dean made an all-out run to the employee parking lot across New Hampshire, ignoring the weird looks he received from others watching him race to his car.

Slightly out of breath, he slid the key into the driver door's lock to open her, breaking the seal on the makeshift oven Baby created. The blast of hot air meeting him from inside was enough to cause his skin to prickle with sweat. It was a quick reminder he shouldn't be wearing his flannel overshirt with summer quickly approaching.

Dean threw his phone onto the seat as he climbed in, the suspension groaning at the roughness of his clamber. He scrambled to pull the door shut behind him, and worked the window crank to let fresh air into the car's cabin. He jammed the shiny, silver key in his hand into the ignition and turned, revving her engine to life.

Taking a preventive glance around, Dean yanked the gearshift into the reverse position before backing out of the parking space. Throwing Baby into drive, her tires squealed as he pressed on the gas harder than necessary. Baby maneuvered through the parking lot with ease, making her way to the exit.

As he drove down New Hampshire, Dean's thoughts had a singular purpose. He wished and hoped Castiel got stuck in traffic or road construction along Massachusetts to delay his arrival time.

_Please let him be late. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. Bobby might cover for me, but I dunno about anyone else._

The moment Dean turned onto East 7th, he gathered his phone up in his big hand. He pressed the redial button, and brought the phone to his ear. He weaved through the other cars as he listened to the ringing buzz from the speaker.

"Dammit, Cas!" he exclaimed as the familiar message of the voicemail greeting started in his ear.

Dean turned right on Connecticut behind a dark blue Prius, heading south. He drummed his fingers over the steering wheel anxiously, praying his speedometer would break thirty miles per hour along the two-lane road. Nope. Prius was keeping it at a cool twenty-nine, six miles below the speed limit.

Looking through the car's back window and seeing no tuft of hair above the headrest, Dean assumed it was a sweet, little old lady returning home from her morning errands. He knew it was a residential zone and he should drive slower, but _Jesus_ , today was not the day to obey the posted limit. He bit his lip to keep the litany of curse words from tumbling out, aimed at the overly cautious Prius driver.

" _Son of a..._ " hissed out from behind Dean's teeth at the first of many four-way stops along the street before it became Barker. Prius came to a complete stop and waited three seconds before proceeding through the intersection. It wasn't one, two, three...go, either. It was more like one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, and then go.

He stuffed his fingers into the short spikes of his hair in frustration, grumbling another curse under his breath.

By the fourth stop sign, Dean had perfected the California Rolling Stop, and thanked his lucky stars none of Lawrence's Finest were around to witness the infraction.

 _There is a God_ , he thought as Prius turned right onto a side street. Sure enough, it _was_ a silver-haired lady wearing a pair of black wrap around sunglasses; barely tall enough to see over the dashboard.

Dean barreled down Barker, continuing south. There was a good amount of traffic, but no one was driving below the speed limit like Prius Grandma for Dean to notice. He was still impatiently protesting at every stop sign until the traffic was flowing again.

The rest of his drive came without incident. He arrived at Singer's Auto a minute earlier than he assumed he would (no thanks to Prius Grandma). He carelessly pulled into a spot next to Bobby's rusted Chevelle. You'd think a guy who owned an auto shop would take better care of his car. Dean shrugged.

As soon as the Impala was in park, Dean threw himself out the door, and slammed it shut behind him. He raced toward the garage's open bay doors, glancing over his shoulder for Castiel's Honda. Did he actually beat him here?

Dean screeched to a halt in the garage's reception area, nearly plowing into Bobby. "Whoa, son. Where's the fire?"

His breath huffed as he tried to answer the shop owner. Maybe he needed to start working out if he got this winded from running a few hundred feet? Or cut back on double cheeseburgers and pie?

_Never! They would have to pry his pie from his cold, dead fingers first!_

He noticed the slight movement to the left of the reception counter out of the corner of his eye. There was Castiel, in his usual business attire, holding a large, brown paper bag. "Hello, Robert."

Dean's insides seized at the greeting. He was going to get so much shit from Bobby after this. "Hey, Cas. You beat me here."

Castiel's eyes squinted in confusion, his head tilting to the side like a confounded puppy. Dean could see the wheels turning, and noticed the question forming on his lips. "I meant here to the front. 'Cause, of course, I was already here. Working. On a Tuesday."

Dean chanced a quick look to his right at Bobby. Per usual, his mouth was twisted into a frown, arms folded across his chest. Dean chose to ignore the grouse coming from under the older man's breath.

"So, lunch?" Dean remarked, pointing to the bag Castiel clutched in his hand.

"Yes, like I mentioned in my text to you," Castiel replied, looking at the crumpled paper with Fallen's logo of burnt angel wings printed on the side.

"I tried callin' you a bunch of times before you got here. There isn't a real place to eat here, so I was hopin' we could meet somewhere else. But, you never picked up."

"I'm sorry, Robert. I never answer my phone while driving. It's unsafe," Castiel said, shifting from one foot to the other.

Dean smiled at the admission. Of course he'd think talking on his cell phone while driving was not safe.

_He probably drives under the speed limit, too, like Prius Grandma._

Dean turned away from Castiel, taking a step toward the employee area. "Well, I hope you don't mind the dirty break room of a bunch of greasy mechanics," he called over his shoulder. How was he going to explain away the guys popping in the break room to say hi? He knew it was bound to happen with his luck.

"If you two lovebirds don't make a mess, you can go upstairs," the gruff voice sounded in the small room.

Dean froze, whipping around with a bitch-face his brother would be proud of. He watched as the blush bloomed up Castiel's neck and over his cheeks. Taking several steps over to his guest, he grabbed the bag from Castiel's hand, and pointed a finger at Bobby. "Just for that, Old Man, we will make a mess. C'mon, Cas!"

Bobby let out a loud guffaw. "No, you won't!" he replied, laughing a little louder. He looked at Castiel with a smirk as the pair walked to the staircase leading to the upstairs apartment, "Enjoy your lunch with that one. He's quite the handful."

Dean groaned. "I heard that."

Peals of laughter echoed off the reception area's walls as the pair ascended the stairs to Bobby's home.

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

"So, welcome to my second home," Dean said, gesturing around the small living space of Bobby's apartment. "I spent almost every summer here as a kid."

"You and Bobby are close, then?" Castiel inquired, taking in the haphazardly stacked books around the floor of the entryway.

"Thick as thieves," Dean replied, walking toward a worn leather couch at the right of the garage's doorway. He set the paper sack in his hand down on a cluttered oak coffee table before removing his flannel. He threw it over the arm of the couch, straightening the hem of his t-shirt. A soft flow of air swept across his skin from a vent located in the ceiling above him. Even with the a/c on, it was still warm. Or maybe he was still flush from Bobby calling them lovebirds? "Sorry about, y'know, the whole 'lovebirds' thing."

A flicker of white shone between Castiel's lips before he glanced to his feet. His left foot scuffed across the edge of where the tile of the entryway and the carpeting of the living room met. Was he uncomfortable about the comment?

_I shouldn't have fuckin' said anything!_

As if he had read Dean's mind, Castiel's head rose with a reassuring look. "It's okay. I kind of liked it, actually." He casually shuffled his feet along the dirtied beige carpet to where Dean stood with a stunned expression on his face.

"Y-yeah?" he gulped, unsuccessfully trying to appear cool to the beautiful man toe to toe with him.

Castiel nodded his reply, gently placing a hand at each of Dean's hips. Without much effort, he tugged their bodies a fraction of an inch closer together. Dean responded in kind, crowding him even more.

The scent of the blue-eyed man's aftershave wafted easily to his nose from their proximity. He breathed a quiet sigh as not-so-distant memories flooded his mind as he wrapped his thick fingers around the silky, turquoise tie between their chests. Dean tenderly pulled on the necktie, filling the empty space between them. They were now pressed together from shoulder to foot.

Dean leaned in to Castiel's ear, rubbing the tip of his nose along the soft skin of his earlobe. He moved up further, grazing his lips along the shell of the ear. A quiet rumble whispered out of his mouth, "Good."

Castiel pulled back somewhat, puzzled. Had Dean said something wrong again? Had he misunderstood him before?

The shorter man's eyes swept across the planes of Dean's face, admiring the way his freckles popped in the light emitted from the kitchen window above the sink.

_Was he looking for a lie?_

Dean smiled genuinely, trying to soothe Castiel's fears. Yeah, it was a little embarrassing to have Bobby call them lovebirds, but he was just trying to ruffle some feathers, right? No pun intended.

Dean may not be ready to shout from the rooftops he was attracted to men (at least, just one in particular), but he wasn't afraid to acknowledge the fact he cared deeply for the restaurant owner. How could he convey his feelings without going overboard?

He bumped their foreheads together, moving his hand from the wrinkled tie to play with the short hairs at the nape of Castiel's neck. The longer he stared at Castiel, the harder it was to breathe. _God_ , he could so easily see himself drowning in the different shades of blue of his irises.

"Lovebirds is a little much," he croaked," but boyfriends would be okay."

Dean's heart thumped erratically the longer Castiel stayed quiet. Had he finally gone too far? They had only known each other for two and a half weeks, and he _had_ told him he wanted to take things slow. He didn't care anymore because calling Castiel his boyfriend just felt _right._

It was Dean's turn to pull away, fear creeping up in his throat. He scanned Castiel's face for any misgivings. "Say somethin', Cas," he requested. "Or you'll start to give me a complex."

Dean couldn't help but think this was where Castiel had finally changed his mind about him, and would tell Dean to fuck off.

Castiel's fingers tightened around his hips; the extra pressure kept him from floating off in his own mind.

Slowly, a smile split Castiel's lips; one that predominantly became gummier the longer he held it. It was Dean's favorite. All scrunched nose and crinkled eyes.

The smile eased some of the tension gathering in Dean's chest, making the ache of rejection fade. His heart continued to pound, though, because _holy shit!_ Did he really just admit he wanted to be boyfriends?

Castiel closed the gap between them, and brushed his lips to Dean's. He pecked him again, this one just as sweet as the first. "I'd like that, Robert," he breathed against his mouth.

Dean ignored the incorrect name, and beamed brightly at the gorgeous, blue-eyed man holding onto him tightly. His own fingers buried deeper into the hairs at Castiel's head as he returned the kiss. A rush of something electric filled his veins as a moan escaped from the other man's mouth as he twined the dark locks further around his fingers.

Castiel nipped at Dean's bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. Dean hummed in appreciation as the tip of Castiel's tongue smoothed along the worried flesh.

The electricity running through his body surged stronger as Dean admired the amazing feeling of strong, capable arms snaking up his back, and pulling him closer. A groan leaked past his lips as Castiel's soft, warm tongue sought entrance into his mouth.

Their tongues rolled together, sweeping the other's mouth in wide, broad strokes. Dean would stay in his moment for as long as he could, if Castiel let him; forget about work or other responsibilities. He'd stay right here, wrapped up in a cocoon of Castiel.

Safe. Warm. Carefree.

Maybe not carefree. For some reason or another, he could hear his father's voice in the back of his mind. He wasn't admonishing him, not really, but his booming voice was definitely present.

John Winchester's voice seemed to get louder inside Dean's head. He made every effort to block out the rough timbre as Castiel traced an intricate pattern along the roof of his mouth.

" _...I saw the Impala, Bobby._ "

Dean's stomach dropped to the floor as he realized that voice wasn't in his head any longer, but in the garage's reception area. His dad was here. Looking for _him_.

A pair of booming footsteps pounded their way up the stairs to the little apartment.

Dean froze like a deer caught in headlights, listening to Bobby try to convince his father not to go upstairs.

" _...the boy's got company, John._ "

 _God bless, Bobby Singer_ , Dean thought, straining to hear the exchange on the stairwell.

Castiel pulled away from Dean, eyebrows furled in confusion. A worry line deepened across his forehead. "What?"

" _...I don't care if he's hostin' the Queen of England, I'm gonna talk to him 'cause he's avoiding me._ "

The sound of the apartment's entry door swinging open caused the two embracing men to jump apart. Dean's cheeks burned with the heat of a thousand suns as he made eye contact with a tall, hulking man with a graying beard.

Bobby appeared behind John Winchester in the doorway. He gave Dean the most sympathetic look he'd even seen on the man. His eyes screamed, "I'm sorry! I tried to stop 'im!"

His father wasn't dumb.

Dean knew how it looked, how debauched they were. He knew Castiel's permanent sex hair was even messier than usual. He knew their mouths were spit-slicked and swollen red from the nibbles and pressure of kissing.

He knew he was totally _fucked_.

John's eyes roved over Castiel, and landed on Dean, narrowing to tiny slits.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to act as if his dad hadn't just walked in on him making out with another dude. It was a lot easier said than done. He wasn't ready for the shame or the disappointment he knew was lurking somewhere in his father's eyes.

Was he ready to admit to John _and_ Bobby he was into guys?

Would Castiel defend his honor if it came down to it? Or would he quietly step aside, and let him duke it out with his old man? He seemed like the respectable type, but also like the type that would fight for something he cared about.

If all else failed, he knew Bobby would be in his corner. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten in the middle of a Winchester argument, and it certainly wouldn't be his last.

Dean took a deep breath.

_Here goes nothin'._

"Hey, dad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions! I love you all! :D

"Hey, dad."

John nodded at the acknowledgment. "Son."

Dean silently thanked his father for not saying his real name. He couldn't even think of a way to wiggle himself out of the lie or explain why he was going by Robert now without making the older man suspicious. He'd definitely gotten himself into a few pickles over the years, but this one took the cake. He knew he should just tell Castiel his name was Dean, but he was afraid. He'd dug himself in too deep, and now, he was afraid he couldn't find his way to the surface. Someone was bound to get hurt with the truth, and most likely, it'd be him.

Dean secretly wished he could go back to that night he'd met Castiel and just been honest. Then, he wouldn't be in half the mess he was in now; waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The clearing of a throat broke Dean out of his reverie. He looked up to find Bobby's eyes ten times larger than normal, wearing an expression that said, "Say somethin', idjit!"

He watched as John scrutinized the man beside him further. A protective feeling swept through his body the longer John stared at Castiel. He had half a mind to step in between the two and act as a shield. His feet stayed firmly to their spot, though.

"Cas, this is my dad, John," Dean rushed out. "Dad, this is my friend, Castiel Novak."

Castiel raised his hand, and placed it in front of John, eager to shake his hand. "I've heard a lot about you, sir."

John hesitated for a split second before wrapping his hand around Castiel's in a firm clutch. "Odd," John stated, "I haven't heard anything about you."

Dean watched the muscles in Castiel's jaw bunch as the two men continued to shake hands.

"Cas here, owns that _new_ restaurant on Massachusetts," Bobby piped up, trying to ease the tension in the tiny space. Dean caught the emphasis on 'new.'

_I am getting that man a medal or the best bottle of whiskey money can buy._

John's eyes flitted over to the paper sack still perched on the coffee table.

"Is that right?" John asked with a hint of skepticism in his rough voice.

"Yessir," Dean answered quickly. "We met when Charlie and I went to Fallen for the _first_ time a few weeks ago." He really hoped his father was on his A-game today, and caught the subtle hints he and Bobby were dropping.

John understood the importance of keeping Dean's identity a secret. It wouldn't fair very well if every new place paid him special treatment whenever he was reviewing them. The authenticity of the experience would be tarnished, without a doubt.

Sometimes, John wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed, though, and Dean prayed today wasn't one of those times.

Dean saw the exact moment on John's face when he realized what he was supposed to be understanding. It was like a light went off inside his brain. "I've heard wonderful things about your restaurant. I hope to try it soon."

"Thank you," Castiel replied. "I was very lucky to have snagged Chef Lafitte and my other staff. They are the _real_ reason Fallen has been a success."

Dean grinned at Castiel's modesty. He knew he was as much a part of the success as anyone. Without a good captain, your ship would surely sink.

"I s'pose yer anxiously waitin' for your review in LWJ, huh?" John commented, shooting a devious smile Dean's way.

Dean started to cough as if choking on something, most likely air or his own saliva. Why would his dad bring up the review?

A flash of concern fluttered across Castiel's countenance. He placeed a soothing palm high on Dean's bicep. "Are you alright?"

Dean waveed him off, stifling the persistent bark climbing from his throat.

John butted in, "I hear that food critic can be a _real_ hard ass."

Dean throws his father a stern look, silently questioning his motive.

"I _am_ anxiously awaiting the review," Castiel admits, gliding his hand down Dean's arm before resting it back at his side. "But, I am also confident my kitchen and wait staff will do an excellent job when the critic decides to dine at Fallen."

A lop-sided smile formed on Dean's lips at Castiel's coolheaded attitude. "Like I said before, Cas, you have nothing to worry about," he assured.

A pair of knowing smirks played across John and Bobby's features. They knew Dean was telling the truth if the fragrance floating through the air was anything to go by.

Castiel noticed the pair of older men eyeballing the to-go bag. "We were about to sit for lunch," he said, gesturing to the food cooling at his left. "There's more than plenty for everyone."

John balked at the invitation. He shifted his gaze from Castiel to Dean and back again. Dean wouldn't mind his father joining them but would rather have Castiel all to himself.

"Nah," John declined, "but thank you, though. I think I'd rather my first experience be in your place than on Bobby's lumpy couch."

"Hey!" Bobby protested, folding his arms over his chest. "Didn't hear ya complainin' when ya needed a place to crash for the night."

John chuckled heartily before jamming his hand back out in front of the restaurant owner. "We'll leave ya to it. Good to meet ya, Castiel." He dropped his hand after two pumps. His eyes slid to his son.

Dean held his breath, waiting for the barrage of homophobic words to roll from his father's tongue. Instead, silence. John held his son's panicky eyes for a few seconds before turning toward the door to leave.

"Enjoy your lunch, boys," he called over his shoulder.

Dean stood glued to his spot, stupefied. He never knew his old man to back down from a fight. Where was the yelling and the back-handed comments? He had caught his eldest son making out with another man! There was no way he was letting this roll off his back like water, was there?

Dean's legs found their mobility again, and he rushed for the door leading to the auto shop below. He threw a quick, apologetic look to Castiel. "Give me a sec," he said, dashing down the stairs after his father and Bobby.

"Dad, wait," he shouted after the two men. They were bathed in dark shadows from the lack of light in the stairwell.

He could just make out how John's mouth was pinched in a frown when he turned around. Dean's stomach twisted with anticipation. "Is that it?" Dean asked, feeling the tension jump tenfold.

John's eyebrows scrunched in perplexity. "Is _what_ it?"

Bobby was standing two steps back from the oldest Winchester, a incredulous expression plastered across his mug.

Dean knew the mechanic was wondering why he'd come looking for a fight. It was stupid of him, but Dean needed to know why John hadn't said anything.

Dean dug down deep for the courage he needed to confront his dad.

_Because, yeah. This is really happenin'._

"C'mon, say it," Dean challenged. He puffed up his chest with the bravado he suddenly felt circulating through his body.

"Dean-" Bobby warned.

"No, Bobby," he interrupted. "I wanna hear it."

John heaved a sigh, looking a lot more weary-eyed than before. "I'm not sure what you want from me here, exactly."

"I- you," Dean started. Was he really not going to yell at him? Dean tossed a puzzled look between the two men below him on the stairs.

"I should have figured the reason you were ignoring me was because you were wrapped up in a new toy. "

There it was.

Dean braced for the inevitable blow he was sure to follow.

"You've always had this _weird_ obsession with food," John continued. "I mean, look at what you do for a living, for _chrissakes!_ "

_Wait, what?_

Dean's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Bobby tried to contain the snort bubbling up.

"What?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"You're buddy-buddy with that restaurant owner in there for your weird food fetish, right? Why else would you be friends with him?"

Was that really what his dad was hung up on? The fact he enjoyed food and made a living at it? Had he really not seen the way he and Castiel had sprung apart?

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was not the argument he expected to have after seeing his father walk through the door to Bobby's apartment. With the stink-eye his dad had given Castiel, he was positive there would be some accusation of deflowering his virginal son by witchy means.

He figured it'd be more along the lines of, 'No son of mine...' and not criticism of his career.

"Wow, dad," Dean said, shaking his head. "You talked to him for a whole five seconds." He turned his back to the two men below him, and trudged up three stairs. He stopped, and faced his father again.

"I'm not using him for my 'food fetish' as you put it." Dean took a step down before continuing. He gave his father a long, hard look. "Castiel _is_ a genuinely good person, and I'm lucky to call him my friend."

"And I'm sure you are," John replied. He combed a calloused hand through his hair. "Just...tread lightly. I'd hate to see anyone get hurt. Especially _you_."

Dean whipped back around, and stormed up the remaining stairs. Bobby's protests were ignored as he made his way back inside the apartment. He carefully closed the door, and leaned his forehead against the smooth wood grain.

How was he going to get hurt by being Castiel's friend? Dean didn't believe there was a mean bone in the man's body. He was a saint..no, an angel. A small grin quirked at his lips.

He didn't get it. What was his old man trying to say?

Unless...

_Shit! He did see! Why didn't he say anything?!_

Dean grumbled to himself under his breath, trying to keep his hands from getting too animated as they flailed at his side.

"Is everything okay?" Castiel questioned, cutting into Dean's mini break down.

Dean had nearly forgotten he was there. "How much of that did ya hear?" he asked, keeping his back to where the other man was.

Castiel was quiet for a moment before answering, "All of it."

Dean groaned, and beat his head softly against the door once, twice. He turned around, and found Castiel sitting anxiously on the couch. He had spread the food containers of their lunch across the coffee table in his absence, and their delicious aromas was starting to fill the living area. His stomach whined at the smells.

Dean ambled to the couch, and lowered himself onto a lumpy cushion. He quickly glanced at Castiel before starting. "I'm sorry about my dad." He shrugged. "He's kinda a jerk sometimes."

The corner of one of Castiel's lips ticked up, like he understood Dean completely. There was a brief pause before his gravelly voice filled the space between them. "D-do you have a 'weird' fascination with food?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "I am... passionate," he said, peeking to his left. He heaved a sigh before settling his hands into his lap. "Okay. So, yeah, I _am_ fascinated, I suppose. But, I'm also intrigued with every aspect of it. The preparation that goes into creating a lavish meal, the way the favors meld together, or the textures of certain foods. It compels me to experiment in my own kitchen, encouraging my love to cook."

Green eyes followed Castiel's tanned fingers as they picked at a piece of fuzz on his slacks. He sat stoically, interpreting Dean's explanation.

"Why did he bring up what you do for a living?" Castiel asked, now rubbing his hand across his thigh.

Dean froze. This was his perfect opportunity to confess; to admit everything Castiel knew about him was a lie. He had to do it, right? Of course, he did!

_Tell 'im, you pussy!_

Castiel's imploring eyes were boring into him, right down to his soul. It was now or never.

Dean went to explain, but was interrupted. "Are you not a mechanic?" Castiel stared at him intently. The deep worry line from before was starting to make another appearance.

Dean released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "No, no, I'm a mechanic."

"Then, what did he mean?"

_Tellhimtellhimtellhim!_

"I write..." he started. Castiel continued to stare as he waited for Dean to finish. "I write...for a food magazine a couple times a month."

He hated himself the second it slipped out. Why was it so hard for him to tell Castiel the truth? It was an easy thing to say.

_Lies come easier, apparently._

A flicker of sadness fell on Castiel's face, but he immediately schooled the expression. It was as if he knew Dean was lying and felt disappointed at hearing the fib.

_Shoulda told 'im the truth._

"Which magazine?" Castiel inquired. "Maybe I've read some of your work."

Dean flapped his hand in Castiel's direction. "I doubt it. It's a very small publication."

_Yes. Dig yourself in deeper. Fuckin' idiot._

Castiel was not budging.

Dean immediately pulled every obscure food magazine he knew of to the forefront of his mind. He picked one at random.

"Uh, _The Art of Eating._ Ever heard of it?" Dean said, hoping against all hope he hadn't. Being a savvy restaurant owner, though, he probably had.

Castiel thought for a moment, then shook his head in the negative. "I do not believe I have."

Dean's insides unclenched as the man beside him answered.

"What do you write about?"

_'Course he wants to know._

He knew Castiel wasn't questioning him to be nosy, but out of curiosity. Isn't that what you did when you first started dating someone? Ask questions; get to know them.

Dean started fiddling with the different food containers, trying to avoid eye contact. Everything looked so good! He wished the subject could be dropped already.

"I, uh, write about different food movements, like veganism or Paleo diets or even local food."

Castiel nodded as if agreeing. "We only use local foods in the restaurant. I source everything from nearby farms," he said.

"Yes, exactly!" Dean exclaimed, squeezing Castiel's knee gently. "Lawrence is so eclectic, being a college town. A lot of new ideas of how we should grow or prepare our foods is always evolving. It's a perfect subject to write on."

Dean was surprised how easily the lies rolled off his tongue. Then again, they weren't all lies. He did highlight some of the practices the different restaurants boasted around town in his column for the World-Journal.

"That is very interesting," Castiel admitted. "I will have to check it out sometime." He placed his hand atop Dean's at his knee, and brushed his thumb across the rough knuckles.

Dean's heart drummed in his chest at the contact. The touch was so simple and sweet, yet, the electrical impulses zapping across his skin were incredible.

He was going to do everything in his power to hang onto this feeling. And he knew that meant admitting to everything.

_No more lies._

"I meant what I said," Dean murmured, "to my dad about you."

Castiel stopped rifling through the paper bag he brought with him, and pulled out a pair of plates. He turned toward Dean, a smile touched upon his mouth. "I could tell by the sincerity in your voice," he answered.

Dean smiled in return. "I am lucky to have you." He angled his body closer to Castiel's, and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. With lips still brushing softly at his hairline, Dean added, "As my boyfriend."

Castiel smiled brightly at the confession. He leaned in, and placed his own kiss to Dean's plush mouth. He sighed before saying, "Thank you, Robert. I feel the same about you."

A little bit of the joy Dean felt inside from Castiel's admission died with the utterance of his alias. He really needed to come up with a way to get everything off his chest. He could do this. He just needed to work it all out beforehand.

_Maybe Sam can help come up with a game plan?_

He grinned as he grabbed one of the plates in Castiel's hand.

"This all looks amazing!" Dean said, reaching for the nearest container. Castiel hummed his agreement.

Dean set the to-go box he was holding down, and surveyed the man next to him again. For whatever reason, he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the restauranteur.

At some point, the sleeves of his button-down were rolled up to the elbow, revealing a smattering of fine hair. The muscles in Castiel's forearms jerked under sun-kissed skin as he scooped food onto his own plate. The gaps in between the shirt's buttons puckered every time he moved, unveiling bits of his smooth chest underneath.

Dean tilted his head forward, and caught the corner of Castiel's mouth with his lips. Castiel looked up in surprise.

Dean blushed slightly. "Thanks for having lunch with me."

Castiel grinned in appreciation. "You're welcome."

 _That smile will never get old_ , Dean thought, grabbing up the food container he rested on the coffee table earlier.

"Now, whadaya say we dig in before it gets too cold?" he joked, knocking his shoulder against Castiel's.

"Sounds like a plan."

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Dean was so wrapped up in his own head trying to sort through shit, he hadn't noticed the shadow following behind him.

The instant he stepped foot back on LWJ property after lunch with Castiel, Crowley was there, breathing down his neck.

When asked if he was at Devil's Trap, Dean replied with a curt, "No."

"When do you plan to write the rec piece?" Crowley asked, hands bunched into fists at his sides.

"Whenever I get to it." Dean knew the Brit's blood pressure was rising by the coloring in his face- bright red.

"Whenever you get to it? What part of 'get it for me a-sap' didn't you bloody understand?" Crowley spat, face purpling by the second.

Dean shrugged. He wasn't purposely trying to be obstinate, but he was too stressed about the situation with Castiel to care at the moment.

"Need I remind you, Winchester, but your job hangs in the balance."

Dean pondered the idea of losing his job for a moment. If he lost his job at the World-Journal, he wouldn't have to worry about telling Castiel what he did for a living because there'd be no point. He'd just be a part-time mechanic. The use of an alias could be easily explained away. Problem solved.

Too bad he loved his job too much.

Dean shook his head, disagreeing with his own train of thought. Crowley assumed he was responding to his comment.

"Put whatever you think is more important on the back burner, and write the piece for Devil's Trap," Crowley said behind clenched teeth. The vein in his forehead was now clearly visible.

Dean fixed the shorter man with a unwavering stare, raising himself up to his full height. The editor quailed faintly at the movement. Dean knew his size and demeanor could be intimidating, so he used it to his advantage in the moment.

"Tell ya what. I'm going to finish the Ladybird Diner piece I'm working on, then I'll move onto the review for Fallen. Then, _maybe_ , just maybe, I'll do your rec piece for Devil's Trap," Dean said calmly, smoothing out the silken ebony tie at Crowley's neck. A smug smile crept up his face.

The editor was taken aback by his boldness. Dean was a little surprised himself. What had gotten into him?

_Probably the shitstorm that is my life._

Every thing seemed to be trickling down, so why not add subordination to the list?

Crowley regained his composure, and looked Dean squarely in the face. "You listen to me," he threatened. "You _will_ write that piece first or I'll make good on my threat."

Dean couldn't be certain is father saw his and Castiel's kiss from earlier, but he was ninety percent sure he had. Without consideration, Dean stated, "Go ahead. He already knows."

Crowley's eyes grew marginally bigger. They swept across Dean, trying to ascertain the truth. "You're lying."

The taller man took a step closer, pushing into Crowley's space. "Ran into him at lunch, actually," Dean boasted. "Told 'im everything."

Crowley shuffled away, breaking his unrelenting pursuit to uncover the real truth. His employee, however, wasn't showing his hand. "I _will_ get you to write that rec. One way or another."

Dean scoffed at the threat. "You have no leverage now, Crowley. That went out the window the second I told my old man everything." He believed himself to be playing the situation convincingly, but inside he screamed to keep it cool. Any weird twitch could alert to the lie. "So, you can take that little blackmail scheme of yours, and shove it up your ass."

Crowley smiled at how brazen the green-eyed man was acting, but knew it was just that- an act. He straightened the lapel of his jacket, dusting off a fleck of something unknown. "You may or may not have told John your little secret, but I'll find something else. Something more damaging than your little 'coming-out story.' Just you wait and see."

"Bring it on," Dean responded. He spun on his heel, walking away from the editor at an easy pace.

He wasn't panicking. Not yet, anyway.

Dean knew he had a very resourceful red-head in his pocket. He hoped she dug up some good dirt on the Brit before it was too late. He didn't want to pressure Charlie to work harder, but he needed the intel on Crowley, like, yesterday.

 

 

*/*/*/*/*

 

Pulling into his driveway Wednesday evening took a huge weight off Dean's shoulders. He was finally home, where nothing was expected of him. He could change into a pair of loose-fitting running shorts, order in, sprawl on his couch, and veg out for the rest of the night.

There were no articles to write or new restaurants to try. There weren't any demanding bosses to please or piss off. Just him, a six-pack, and his TV.

And Sam.

He'd almost forgotten his brother was coming over until he got a text asking what kind of pizza he wanted. Like he had to ask.

Dean's phone buzzed again as he was pushing the front door to his home open. This time, the text informed him Sam was on his way.

He would have just enough time to change and start to de-stress before his brother arrived.

 _This is good. I need this_ , Dean thought, heading to the master bedroom.

After slipping into a pair of ratty, polyester shorts, he made his way into the kitchen to grab a beer. As he was popping the top, the doorbell sounded through the house. He made a half-ass attempt of throwing the bottle cap to the garbage can standing in the corner. It bounced off the rim, skittering across the tiled floor. He huffed in annoyance before calling out, "It's open!"

He stooped down to pick up the wayward bottle cap, catching a glimpse of Sam walking through the entryway. The younger Winchester repositioned the pizza boxes in his arms as he closed the door behind him.

They locked gazes as Sam strode into the kitchen, tipping his head in greeting. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," Dean answered, taking the square boxes from his brother. "Smells good."

"Try riding in a car with that smell for ten minutes," Sam said as his stomach gurgled.

Dean chuckled at the noise, walking the short distance to the cupboard where he kept the plates. He grabbed two, and set them down on the island next to the pizza. He motioned for Sam to dig in. "Wanna beer?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam replied, dragging a cheesy slice from one of the boxes.

Dean pulled the longneck from the fridge, and popped the top like he'd done his own. He made a conscious effort to toss the cap into the garbage the first time, though. He slid the amber bottle across the granite countertop, placing it in front of his brother. Sam wrapped his long fingers around the neck, and took a sip.

Dean lifted the lids to the pizzas, examining the contents inside. He settled on the meat lovers, depositing two gooey pieces on his plate. He settled against the counter's edge, crossing his bare feet at the ankle.

Lifting one of the slices to his mouth, Dean heartily bit into the soft dough. Noisy smacks echoed around him. After swallowing, he took a long draft of his beer, washing away the greasy remnants of sausage and pepperoni. They ate in almost near silence.

Trying to be inconspicuous, he observed Sam out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his beer. In five short weeks, this ginormous nerd of a man would be somebody's husband. It seemed unfathomable. He was still some six-year-old in Dean's eyes.

Dean remembered teaching Sam how to tie his shoes and ride a bike like it was yesterday. As he grew, it changed to shaving and talking to girls. After all the pointers he'd given his little brother, Dean was amazed at how much he still managed to jumble his pick-up lines or squeak out a compliment. He's still surprised at how Sam managed to snag a beauty like Jessica.

_Giant dorks must be her type._

Dean cleared his throat as he reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth, placing a second on the countertop. Sam glanced up at the noise.

"So," Dean started, "big wedding coming up in a few weeks. Excited? Gettin' cold feet, yet?"

Sam laughed. "Nah, man. I'm ready to start this part of our lives."

_Of course he is, the big sap._

"Is Jess positive she knows what she's gettin' herself into?" Dean teased. "All the gas and the shedding. Yeesh!" Dean shudder at the thought.

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"That woman _is_ a frickin' saint to willingly commit herself to spending the rest of her life with you," Dean remarked, bumping his shoulder against his brother's.

Sam took another pull from his beer, finishing the bottle. He set it on the counter, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Sometimes, I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up, and this will have all been a dream. I don't know what I did to end up with someone like Jess."

Dean frowned at the confession. He knew the answer. "Careful now. Yer startin' to sound like me," he quipped. He rubbed his napkin across his lips again. "Yer a good man, Sammy, and only deserve the best in this world. And if that means you have to take one for the team, and spend every minute of every day married to a beautiful, smart, funny, successful, wild woman who's crazy about you, then I say suck it up."

Sam threw his head back, and crowed a laugh at the ceiling. Dean delighted in the sound coming from his brother, and beamed with pleasure.

"It'll be hard, but I'll do my best," Sam replied, still laughing.

"That's what she said," Dean joked, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam used the hand not holding his plate to shove the older Winchester away from him. "Ew, gross, Dean!"

Dean chortled at the disgusted expression Sam wore as result of the innuendo. He paused to catch his breath after a few moments. It never failed. "In all seriousness, though," he said earnestly, "I think, _she_  was the one who ended up with _you_. Not the other way around."

Dean could tell how much Sam wanted to haul him bodily into a bone-crushing hug, but resigned himself to a firm squeeze at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Dean patted the hand twice.

"'Sides, who else is gonna put up with your bitchiness? Sure as hell ain't gonna be me," he mocked.

Sam feigned indignation with a loud, "Uht!" before wrapping his arm around the shorter man's neck, and pulling him into a headlock. He placed his plate on the counter, then ground his knuckles over Dean's head in a noogie.

"Hey, _ow_!" Dean proclaimed, squirming under Sam's arm. He really hated being the little big brother in times like these.

Sam chuckled at Dean's cries of pain. He swiftly let him go, watching him stumble.

Dean rubbed his head in comfort. "You usin' brass knuckles? _Jesus_ , that hurt!"

Sam barked another laugh, "Serves you right!"

"Just speakin' the truth...bitch," Dean said, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Jerk!"

Dean snickered. _God_ , he missed this. They had been much too busy as of late to just hang out as brothers. So, the banter was most welcome. He heaved a sigh as he walked to the refrigerator, swiping two more beers. He passed one of the bottles to Sam. "Hey, let's load up our plates, and move this to the couch. Heh? The Back to the Future Trilogy is on Netflix now."

Sam used the bottle opener on the counter to remove the top from his beer. "Sounds good." He paused before preceding, "And thanks, Dean. For this. It's nice to just hang out."

"Alright, alright," Dean agreed, pushing his brother away from the pizza boxes. "Enough chick flick moments."

Sam filled his plate with a couple more pieces, and followed Dean into the living room. He plopped down on the couch, opposite his brother. Positioning his brew onto a coaster, he sat back in his seat, settling into the corner. With a devilish smirk, he arranged his body so he was parallel to the couch's back. "Speaking of true love, how is... Chaz was it?"

Dean's whole body burned with the blush coloring his skin. It felt like he was on fire with embarrassment. "Cas," he mumbled. "His name is Cas."

"Oh, right...Cas," Sam corrected. "How is _Cas?_ "

"He's fine. Good, actually."

Sam nodded his understanding. "So...are you, y'know? Dating?"

Dean blushed again. He seized his beer from the coffee table, and consumed half the bottle in one gulp. Why was this so hard?

Sam radiated with glee at the uncomfortable state his big brother was in. "Aww, that's so sweet," he said in a baby-voice. "Dean has himself a _wittle_ boyfriend."

Dean crumbled his napkin into a ball, and threw it at Sam's head. "Shuddup, Sam."

Sam giggled at the pathetic attempt of bodily harm.

Dean knew it was all in fun, but he was taking his relationship with Castiel very seriously. Sam noticed his long face immediately.

"Y'know, I'm joking, right?" he asked, scooting a half inch closer to the other end of the couch. "It's just nice to be able to tease you a little bit, for once."

"I know, Sammy. I'm just...afraid I'll screw it up somehow." Dean swiped a hand over the back of his neck. "I think I already did."

Sam studied him as he fidgeted in his seat. "How so?"

Dean blew out a long breath before going into his explanation. "I never would've thought, in my wildest dreams, I would be datin' a guy. Even though I felt an attraction toward him, I panicked when he introduced himself as Fallen's owner. I didn't think I'd ever see him again, so I told 'im my name was Robert Plant."

"Really, Dean?" Sam interrupted, incredulous. "You need to come up with a better alias."

"It's beside the point, but we both know Robert Plant is a legend."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Anyways."

"So, now he thinks my name is Robert, and I work full-time at Bobby's place. I had to scramble to get there yesterday because he wanted to surprise me with lunch. Then, Dad showed up, and walked in on us making out."

"Shit, Dad knows?!" Sam questioned, eyebrows hidden in his hairline.

"Yes," he answered quickly. Then unsure, "I dunno, maybe."

Sam was filled with concern and what could only be described as fear for Dean.

"I dunno what to do, Sammy. I need to tell 'im, but I'm afraid he'll bolt the second he finds out I was lyin'. I wanted to tell 'im after Fallen's review was done, but Crowley's been up my ass about other shit and it's delayin' everything. I can't wait any longer. It's eatin' me alive. And I was hopin' to tell 'im on Saturday, but I need to figure out exactly what to say beforehand, in a way it won't make me look like too much of an asshole."

Sam whistled at his predicament. "You're really up Shit Creek with this one."

Dean huffed, "Understatement."

"You really care about Cas, huh?"

Dean stopped for a moment to think about Castiel, and a sweet smile rose slowly up his cheeks. The man was amazing and beautiful, and in the short time they'd known each other, a sort of deep bound had already formed. So, it was easy for him to answer, "Yeah, Sammy. I really do."

"Alright," Sam said, scooting closer, "this is what you need to start off with..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](http://deanisthebeesknees.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> I'm nice, I swear! :)


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